


MRMR 2: New Rules

by disingenue



Series: My Roof, My Rules [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ADHD Lexa, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Artist Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Female Character, Clarke Griffin/Lexa Smut, Clexa, Cute Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Lexa is Neurodivergent, Modern Setting Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Neurodiversity, No Beta, No Lesbians Die, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Clarke Griffin, Protective Lexa (The 100), Sarcastic Anya (The 100), Shy Lexa (The 100), Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Strap-Ons, The 100 Femslash, soft clexa, to command is to be alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disingenue/pseuds/disingenue
Summary: Without her support animal, Lexa is forced to adapt and better herself for her newfound love, Clarke. A continuation from the My Roof, My Rules series. Rated M for later chapters.As always, if you relate and you feel like this is your story, even just a piece of it, drop a comment. I love hearing it. If you want to see something in particular, drop it in the comments. I like taking you guys into consideration.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: My Roof, My Rules [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880779
Comments: 157
Kudos: 291





	1. Soul Kitchen

Lexa was generally unsure of how she appeared, no matter how hard she tried to imagine it. When she appeared tired, she felt full of energy. When she felt content, she appeared angry, and she could chase and chase all day and still not understand how she seemed to others. 

She did not know how she seemed to the sous chef, but he always knew when she could use a rice pudding; his grandfather’s recipe. Jasmine rice, half water, half cream, white sugar and a crimson reduction of raspberry topping it. Cheap. Simple. Satisfactory. Lexa scooped the last bit of the porridge from the dessert bowl gratefully as she sat at the back of Oliver’s. 

Nyko stood over her expectantly, as she passed the little bowl back to him. 

“It was good. Thank you.”

She was unexpressive. He got it; her gratitude. In a way, Nyko was a healer Lexa thought. He healed people with his food. Even when Lexa was too sick with distraction to eat and survive, Nyko had the magic touch and the intuition to know who needed what, and when. Even Clarke would happily let Nyko decide her plate for her, be it a tremendous cheeseburger and fries, or a carb-y bowl of pasta, or a boneless chicken breast chopped into a leafy salad.

Lexa knew that Clarke ate with guilt fairly often, but when Nyko served it to her, there was nothing to be guilty about. Clarke was beginning to understand this; Lexa was hopeful. Nyko cooked soul food. They consumed. This pleased Nyko, who was only out to help others in his work. 

Lexa needed to let Nyko help her more, she realized, in Titus’ absence. She had gone days at a stretch on meals from Oliver’s, rather than shopping for and packing her own food. If she was going to get through this, it would be with her people: The Millers and the Indras and the Gus-es and the Lincoln’s and the Anyas and the Lewises of the world. And the Clarke. This one was special. She was in her own category.


	2. Sizing It Up

Clarke turned the key in the lock of Lexa’s apartment. It had been four days since she had done so. Lexa had seemed fine albeit tired at work, but some gut instinct had compelled her to drop by her girlfriend’s place instead of going straight home. 

“Lexa?” Clarke called into the apartment as she cracked the door. She had to admit, even given their last experience, where he had tried to punch his teeth through her thigh, she missed Titus’ face shoving through the door. And his big, blocky head pushing into her knees as she tottered for balance in her heels. And his strong, whip-like tail that would thrash about in elation when she came as a guest into his home.

Lexa’s dress shoes sat on the mat. _Something was off_. Shrugging her purse off and hanging it, Clarke removed her own shoes and put them on the rack with Lexa’s sighing inwardly as she allowed her nylon-clad feet to relax on the cushiony chenille runner. 

“Lex?” She called again. She heard water running in the kitchen. Lexa was probably cleaning with her headphones on. 

Going further inside, Clarke felt a twinge of concern to see that Lexa’s place was beginning to look like… well… her own. It was unnerving, even. Lexa stood at the kitchen sink, in her bare feet, jean shorts and one of her many printed t-shirts bearing a bear motif, scowling into it as she worked determinedly at a stack of dishes. She looked gaunt.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this, Clarke,” She apologized to the backsplash as she removed the earbuds, putting them in the case and pocketing them. Clarke noticed, with curiosity, that Lexa had her house keys clipped to the belt loop of her jeans.  _Why was that?_ “I’ve been…,” She pursed her lips. “Having some hard-but-good days.” That was Lexa’s stoically positive word for days that were, in plain speak, bad. 

“ _O_ _h, god fuck it all! _ _”_ Lexa cursed as the pan fell off the rack into the sink, throwing water everywhere. It was reassuring, a little, that if some things about Lexa were unfamiliar to Clarke today, that she at least still swore colourfully.

“Let me help,” Clarke rushed to the sink, touching a tattooed arm tentatively, trying to stay Lexa’s hand from further frustrating herself with the pots.

“It’s okay,” Lexa sighed. “I can leave it,” she added, as though she were speaking mainly to convince herself. “Clarke, I don’t know how to do this politely, or in a way that isn’t scary, so could we please sit down?”

Lexa was removing the rubber gloves and hanging them up in surrender to the mire of dishwares filling the sink. Momentarily. Going over to the sofa, she looked inquiringly to Clarke. The blonde followed suit, seating herself readily on the couch. Lexa joined her, reaching up to run a hand tiredly through the wild natural curls that she had halfheartedly mustered into a loose ponytail. 

“What’s up, Lexa?”

“Let’s go outside, actually, can we go outside?” Lexa asked even as she pushed herself up from the couch, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Standing, she collected her coffee mug as well. “It’s decaf,” she said promisingly, “Watered down.”

They seated themselves again at the little bistro-style table on Lexa’s patio, the one where she sat to smoke in the morning. Clarke was ready to listen. Lexa lit up and took a drag.

“So. I’m having a hard time,” she began, avoiding Clarke’s eye contact in favour of gazing off at the rhododendrons below, “As you can see.” The blonde felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't known. Lexa had seemed so... unaffected, when at work.

“...And it’s _okay_ , Lex,” Clarke thought to assure the woman. Lexa grunted . 

“Well. It’s hard without Titus,” she admitted, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Clarke wanted to know; of course she did. Lexa took her time inhaling and exhaling a plume of smoke. 

“Listen…,” She said at length, descending into silence again. Processing. Composing.  _Was she going mute __?_ Sometimes she did. 

“Be you,” Lexa added, at last. 

“Okay,” Clarke agreed, taking all of this in. For lack of a better term, or perhaps it was the best one, she was mildly shocked. At what she was seeing, and hearing. Lexa took a sip of her decaf, swallowing and collecting herself.

“I’m sorry if I appear… Not myself,” she continued, still gazing off. She sighed. “But the absolute truth is… this is also me.”

“Lex, I’m not understanding…” Clarke felt a little scared.  _Was this really how much Lexa relied on Titus? When would she get him back?_

“Well,” Lexa said, mustering herself, “Let me explain the situation… As best I can. Can you wait here, a minute?" The brunette was already excusing herself back inside to pull open a cabinet, retrieving, with little effort an old-looking journal. Gazing blankly at it in her hands, she brought it outside. 

“I don't know what I have, Clarke, but at least some of it us just really bad PTSD... Like. It actually retards me, and gives me obsessions. And compulsions." Seeing Clarke about to open her mouth and object to the term, she swatted grouchily at the air, dismissing the comment. 

"Once, it nearly snapped me the fuck in two...," She continued, falling silent to construct her next sentence. "When Costia left. At the height of it... the only thing I knew how to do was wander around, my essentials strapped to me... Observing. Reporting. Literally.” She thumbed the journal, laying a page open on the table. It was Lexa’s day, documented in 24 hour time, down to the minute. Lexa flipped the page. _This wasn’t even everything_. 

“Three pages,” Lexa observed dryly. “Oh-eight-, oh-nine, twenty-eighteen. Weather: Partially cloudy... At twenty-oh-nine, I consumed nicotine. At eight fifteen, I took Titus for a twenty minute jog. We met a dog named River. Border collie-pit-bull mix.”

Clarke’s mouth hung open as she tried to comprehend. 

“This was two years ago?”

Lexa nodded slowly. 

“So, my brain has healed since then. But I did it with Titus… And, I had my job… Two things I could do. Talk to dogs, watch fucked up shit happen, and put a pen to paper.”

“Wow.”

“Sorry if it’s a lot to stomach,” Lexa apologized unnecessarily. As Clarke was about to object, she continued. “I mean look at me, I literally couldn’t stomach it. I have IBS,” she chuckled ruefully. “Anyways. Yeah. This is what I am sizing up, Clarke, and god knows I like to size things up too much.”

“Well, when will things get back to normal?” Clarke wanted to know, naturally, “When you get Titus back?”

“Clarke, he might not come back,” Lexa supplied her in a monotone.

“What?”

“Clarke .” Lexa’s tone was impatient. She had touched a nerve. “What he did to my arm, Clarke… He was going to do to  you.”

“ I know, but—“

“He could have done that to anyone, Clarke. Hear me on this.”

“Well—“

“Nope. Clarke,” Lexa interjected, having none of it. Pursing her lips, she raised her arm demonstratively to Clarke, so she could full appreciate the four healing holes surrounded by a mass of now yellow and green bruising that marred the artwork of her right forearm. Now, she met Clarke’s gaze. “He could have done this to Matthew, Clarke. Or Aden. We  _ have _ think of them.”

“Well, I know, but, Lex, isn’t Anya supposed to be really good with dogs?”

“She is.”

“So she could fix him,” Clarke insisted, clinging stubbornly to hope. She didn’t want to accept what she was hearing. 

“Clarke, some things aren’t meant to be fixed, can’t you see that?” Lexa implored, her wide brown eyes watering a little. “And it’s not Anya’s job, by the way. Not her job to fix my shit; not her job to fix my dog…”

Clarke took all this in with a sniffle. She couldn’t look at Lexa like this, anymore. Sighing sadly, she fiddled with the hem of her blouse. 

“I just—,” She spoke at last. 

“I know, Clarke, I _know_ ,” Lexa assured her emphatically, crushing the cigarette into the tray and pushing her chair back. She rose, motioning for Clarke to follow her indoors, to the couch, where she was positioning herself. 

“He’s calm there, Clarke,” She assured the blonde in a shaky voice, “It’s quiet, on the farm… He’s happy…” She opened her arms to Clarke pleadingly. Clarke buried herself within them. They cried, and cried, and cried.


	3. Just Playin'

The next lunch that Clarke shared with Lexa, she had been served another rice bowl. This one had all sorts of wholesome-looking greens, grains and proteins in it. Apparently, the concierge had found no reason yet to reject the experimentation the sous chef was putting upon her. The blonde was partially curious to see whether the chef would continue pushing his luck and trying out different rice bowls on Lexa, or whether he would ultimately serve a reject to Lexa, and cease the project altogether.

"It's a test kitchen," Lexa explained to her. "Did you know that?" She would always brighten with girlish wonderment as she said that phrase. "So, basically, when head office approves new menu items, they try them out at this location first, and see how they sell, how practical they are to make, if the price point for the ingredients and labor is right, how appetizing they look on the menu... And if the item is a success, all the other Oliver's locations start serving it as well."

Clarke's brows shot up slowly, enlightened. She sank her teeth into her chicken brioche sandwich, savoring before swallowing and replying. "That's actually super cool," she told Lexa appreciatively. "And... Like... By giving them a whirl on you, they could cater better to clients with food intolerances and sensory processing issues," she mused. It was just cool, how whole thing was working out. This is why Lexa and herself had bumped their lunch dates up to three days a week. Clarke had actually wanted four, but it was Lexa who insisted on three evenly spaced days.  "Perfectly balanced. As all things should be."

"I'm aware," Lexa pointed, a tiny bit of surliness creeping into her voice. This was also something Lexa did. She despised being an 'experiment' to the point where her best interests were no longer considered. It had happened to her a lot in school, and also with women discovering their sexuality. Bisexual women, even. "Anyways..." She concluded softly, recognizing her tone and correcting it.

“Well, the man who stares doesn’t stare at me anymore,” She announced, lightening the subject.

“Oh?”   


“I stare back at him to assert my dominance. Until he breaks my gaze. It works. Now he looks closely at the ground when he comes into the building.”

Clarke shook her head demurely, examining the chicken sandwich. She couldn’t go into every little thing with Lexa. Her sandwich both looked and smelled amazing. 

"Jaha approved the budget for the tablets," The blonde volunteered. "I'm taking my old one home and giving the better one to Emori."

"You would do that?" Lexa was curious.

"Yeah, I mean. Well. Her hand is pretty arthritic lately and the drawing pad would really be easier for her to move on..."

Lexa listened quietly. She found this interesting.

"But Jaha approved the funding with you in mind," The brunette was quick to point out. 

Clarke shrugged, popping a couple of french fries into her mouth. 

"I get by just fine with mine. She doesn't with hers."

"Would she do the same for you?" Lexa wanted to know next, listening intently now. 

"Well... I didn't really think of things that way, Lexa. She just needs it more than me. And there's nothing wrong with my old tablet."

Lexa forked moodily at her quinoa, getting frustrated at the grains when the last bits she was trying to scoop up fell loose from her fork and back into the bowl. "For fucks' sakes," she grumbled. This happened more, since Titus had gone away to be at the kennels with Anya. “Keep my strength up...” She growled, succeeding in gathering a forkful and consuming it with determination. 

“Everything okay, Lex?”

It took Lexa a long while to answer.

“Lincoln is coming to the mid-shift.”

“I thought you really like him?”

“I do. But we have a problem on our hands… Indra shares my concern,” she paused to note to Clarke. “Lincoln… I know I can sometimes lack grace and tact, but Lincoln is… about at tactful as a garbage truck.

"All of our alliances we have built up with the dumpster people, the Oliver’s closers, the dope addicts, the meth heads, the schiz… Mike…” Her face darkened. “Mike…” She remembered. “Lincoln has a cockatiel…” Clarke could see Lexa’s mind racing off again. The guard cast a long look over to where the seagull sat on the dumpster. “He can’t control Mike. Mike is a force of nature…  What?! ”

Clarke’s mouth full of buttery brioche, tomato, lettuce and chicken went down the wrong way as giggles overtook her. 

"Shut up, Lexa." She commanded, once she had cleared her throat "You're doing it. You're scheming."  Looking haplessly to her, Lexa palmed her face.

"You're right. It's pointless. Not Lincoln...  Mike. He just doesn't give a fuck, and we'll never be able to make him... I guess Lincoln will have to sink or swim, learning that one. It will be like a bird-versus-birdman thing…“  The blonde nodded slowly in assent. 

"Sounds like it." She was grinning. She couldn’t help herself.

"What?!" Lexa wanted to know.

"Lex. It's nothing."

"You think it's cute."

"No... not quite, just--"

"Well, what say you, then, Clarke?"

"Well, you have to let me say it, without cutting me off."

"Deal."

"Okay. It's just... really sweet-- wait. Tactical. But in a good way. It blows me away," Clarke confessed, "This thing you have going here... You've got friends everywhere you walk in this building. And you didn't stop there-- you made them friends... with each other. Stop and appreciate that, Lex."  Lexa smiled proudly at this. 

"I was oriented to this site thinking I didn't know how to talk to people, take my word for it," she admitted.

"Well. that wasn't true."

Lexa sighed, her gaze wandering off in a small moment of sadness for the self she was remembering. "Clarke," she spoke. "When I walked into this building, I had no clue how to make a friend. All I knew how to make were alliances." She seemed almost shocked with herself that she could ever have been this way.

"Once," Lexa told her with a rueful smile, "I thought it would be a nice idea to have a block party at work, with all my friends."

“That sounds like a really good idea, Lex.”

“Uhh,” Lexa began, her gaze snapping to Clarke’s her eyebrows rising.  Objection pending.  “It absolutely fucking doesn’t. Think about it, Clarke. Think about what you see. The balance. We can’t throw confined spaces or even the plaza into that mix with food… and perhaps alcohol. Shit would get real. The junkies would fight each-other, take advantage of the office people… the office people would feel uncomfortable, the security would step in, guns blazing, and jack everything up… The waitstaff would lose their shit on the office people for acting all entitled. It would be a brawl, Clarke. One tremendous brawl… I’d need the lawyers in my pocket for the aftermath, that’s why I’d have to serve alcohol…” She blew out a long sigh, smiling to Clarke wearily. “And you and I both know this to be true: Mike would start it. He’s a force of nature… He’d rain a natural goddamn disaster down on us.” 

Clarke had to put her chicken sandwich down, before she laughed and sent it flying everywhere.

“It’s funny because it’s true,” Lexa raved, her hands flying to the top of her head as she leaned back on her bucket. “Isn’t it?”  The blue eyes watered. All Clarke could manage was a nod.  “It always fucking is, Clarke. It’s funny because it’s true.”


	4. Unaccommodating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter dedicated to Tribez12, who just simply inspires me.

They were driving to the airport to welcome Wells, an acquaintance of Clarke’s and the son of the man who now owned her company. That didn’t unnerve Clarke. Anyone who knew Wells couldn’t possibly be unnerved by the bright, personable fellow. If anything, Clarke was excited to see the man again, and hear about everything he had been up to over the last few years since they had gotten a chance to catch up. 

Since she needed the calm more, Lexa had been granted fully deejay-ing rights. Graciously, she had mostly chosen mashups, a favorite compromise of theirs. They listened to some more serious raps. They giggled at the cheesy skits interspersed through the albums. Clarke's GPS showed that they were turning into the day parking lot. Clarke bit her lip, navigating the car through the parkade as she scanned for a free spot that was visible to others, on CCTV if nothing else. Lexa was flipping through her music library, choosing one final song. When satisfied, she shifted in the seat, pocketing her phone. 

_S-W Nine-millimeter, check_ _  
_ _Long-nose double barreled rifle, check_ _  
_ _Semi-automatic infrared laser beam shot, check_ _  
_ _Alright Puff, I'm ready to go_

Clarke was already snickering. To encourage her, Lexa flowed at her as she checked the glovebox, gathering several things for her pockets: a pair of earplugs, her headphones, and a spiky ring, a fidget she favored for its discreet size and appearance. 

"All set, Lex?" Clarke checked.

 _"Threw the clips around the shoulders_ _  
_ _Toasters in the holster_ _  
_ _(Kim, let's go!) Slow down bab' bro_ _  
_ _You with the rap Rambo, Tony Montana_ _  
_ _Here's a hammer, a camera, and a "Life After Death" bandana..._

\-- Camera!" Lexa had found a suitable spot. She made a good copilot in this way, for what Lexa lacked in desire to drive, she made up for with her intimate knowledge of where to park. They parked under the camera, exiting the car. Lexa took the lead, knowing the layout intuitively, bringing them toward the exit. 

"No patrolling. You're on break," Clarke reminded her girlfriend with a light tug of her hand as she caught Lexa falling into step, her gaze sweeping her surroundings, flicking from the overhead signage to the ground. This earned her a subtly vexed look. 

"I can't help myself," Lexa protested softly. 

"That's why you've got me, I guess," Clarke returned with a grin. Lexa sulked, but she released Clarke's hand momentarily to wind it around her waist, giving the blonde an affectionate squeeze. They found their way to the front entrance, and with the help of a greeter, learned the direction toward gate nine. Now, they were off and walking again, hand in hand. Nobody minded. And if they did, they didn't matter. 

“The anarchist’s cookbook—“

“Lexa. Topics,” Clarke stopped her gently. 

“Well, I’m a security guard, Clarke,” Lexa grumbled. “You see an Instant Pot, I see a claymore...” But when she trailed off, she was quiet. She minded her topics. Clarke gave her a reassuring squeeze of the hand. Lexa gripped it tighter. Message received. 

They continued to beat through the crowd to gate nine, with Lexa trailing mutely behind Clarke, sometimes slowing to drink in the sight of a traveler, an elaborate sign, an intriguing shop or a provocative art piece. 

“I just want to find the gate where we meet him,” Clarke planned out loud, “Then we can explore and kill some time...”

“The water... the fountain—“ Lexa began to say, flinching as they were cut off by an echoing announcement from the loudspeaker. She waited, jaw clenched, until it finished. “Oh, fuck it,” she decided, producing from her pocket two nude earplugs and popping them into her ears. “I don’t even give a fuck,” she exclaimed softly to Clarke. The blonde smiled. She loved that Lexa generally knew when to not give a fuck. 

“You wanna find the water after?” Clarke supplied. Lexa could still hear. Even though the earplugs were the highest rating she could purchase in a discreet color. _Rated for thirty-three decibels, Clarke. Did you know the decibel system is logarithmic?_ Lexa liked them for times when she had Clarke’s voice to listen to over that of her rappers. 

“Yeah...”

Lexa had stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening a bit, her lips parted. Clarke followed her gaze across the bustling corridor. By a gift shop, an exasperated mother was towing a girl of no more than five by the arm. The red-faced girl was on the ground, screaming, her wispy hair fallen out of it’s painfully tight braid, her cheeks tracked with tears. 

“Mattea, _GET UP_. I said, _GET. UP._ ” The woman snapped. She looked tired. In her other hand, she dragged a heavy baggage card. Abandoning it, she stooped to haul the screeching girl bodily to her feet. People stared. The lady herself seemed increasingly frazzled at the attention. Physically straightening the girl onto her feet, she leaned into the small, tearful face. 

“ _Discipline_ , Mattea. _Get some_.” Turning on her heel, she turned to grasp the handle of the baggage cart again. “I’ll leave without you,” she warned loudly over her shoulder, “And you’ll become an orphan...”

All the redness drained from the little girl’s face. Wide-eyed, gaping, she hurried after her mother. Clarke turned guiltily back to Lexa. She probably shouldn’t have stopped with Lexa; she probably should have kept them moving.

“Lexa, you okay?”

“Yeah...,” came her girlfriend’s response as she turned dazedly back to her. 

“Lexa, it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Lexa repeated to herself, shaking her head once, twice, gaining her bearings again with a glance about the airport. 

“Compose yourself,” Clarke thought to voice. The intimidating-looking brunette relaxed visibly at the sound. 

“ _Compose..._ ,” She murmured under her breath. “Make it look like we’re talking?”

Clarke liked that idea. She gave Lexa’s hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“ _Compose. Compose. Compose..._ ” Lexa murmured slowly and quietly, resuming their pace. 

“Let’s get ourselves to the water,” Clarke proposed, reminding them of their goal. Lexa stroked her hand with her thumb. 

“Good call.”

Rounding the corner of the corridor, they entered in on a hub of the airport that was more tranquil. A beautiful water feature with natural-looking boulders and stones was just ahead. Lexa removed her earplugs, to better hear the quiet rush of the water over the rocks. An art piece, some sort of aboriginal totem carved from cedar and embellished with earthy tones, towered over the pool where the water collected. Clarke was entranced. There was a plaque front and center to the fountain, with a story about the artist and the sculpture. Clarke wanted to know it. 

"Over here, Lex, I wanna see what it says..."

Lexa slowed, allowing their fingers to slip apart. She wanted to look into the water, hear it roar to her, and watch the refraction of the gleaming coins and stones below the surface. Another plaque to her left said that the coins in the fountain were collected and given to a childrens' hospital. Absently, Lexa reached into her pocket for some change she had been spared from the parking pay-station. She felt Clarke at her side again. "Would you like a coin to toss?" She inquired, producing a penny for Clarke as well. 

"Nah, I'm good," Clarke said, but she sounded unconvinced of herself. Lexa had to grin, a tiny bit, as she took Clarke's hand and placed the coin into it. 

"Make a wish. Keep it a secret from me. But don't kiss it. You don't know where that coin has been..."

Smiling shyly, Clarke took the coin. Lexa regarded her with interest as she tossed it into the fountain. 

"I wished--" Clarke began to admit. 

"Shh! Those are the rules. Of wishing," Lexa cut her off, before glancing down to her own coin. 

“ _Like a Saudi attack as the towers collapse_ ,” Lexa rapped as she tossed the coin. “ _Boom..._ ” she said as it plunked into the water feature with a satisfying sound.

“Miss, could you step this way,” came a low voice from behind them. They froze. Lexa was the first to turn around. They were being approached by a very unimpressed-looking security officer.

“No. We must go to gate nine,” Lexa responded annoyedly. Clarke was getting that plunging feeling in her gut. Then came the desire for justice. Her girlfriend wasn't doing anything wrong.

"She honestly isn't going to do anything wrong, she's uncomfortable right now, if you couldn't see and--"

"I'll stop you right there, miss, just to remind you that this is procedure in this airport."

"Procedure," Lexa repeated interestedly.

"Procedure in the airport. For security purposes."

Nodding slowly, Lexa released Clarke's hand, stepping toward the officer. 

"Can you identify yourself," She inquired steadily. The man produced a little card, similar to the one Lexa kept tucked in her work notepad. There was more nodding on Lexa's part. Maybe this would turn out okay. They followed the officer through the crowd in silence. Clarke felt apprehensive. She had no way of knowing what else would fly out of Lexa's mouth, or how long the detour would take. What if Wells arrived with nobody to greet him? The whole thing would be for nothing.

They were shown through a door and to a small waiting room with uncomfortable plastic seats. They gave the guard their I.D., and their phones. Lexa produced her security I.D., which she kept on her person at all times. She then removed her earplugs, reaching one hand into her pocket, and the other into Clarke's squeezing it. When they were alone, she opened her mouth to speak, gazing dead ahead. 

"You're overthinking, Clarke..."

"I just-- You weren't doing anything wrong," Clarke spoke up, " _We_ weren't doing anything wrong! They're infringing on our rights, and if they were just a little more educated about differently-abled people and--"

"Stop."

"You don't think that--"

"I don't think." Lexa nodded, her gaze trained serenely ahead. "We will accept. Comply. There is nothing we can do further, until the guard comes back. Then, it will become clear.”

"Become clear that they're insensitive jerks?!"

"No," Lexa said lowly, a small but infuriating smile quirking the corners of her lips. "It will become clear. What to do next."

"Well, I just--"

"Shh," Lexa shushed her with a squeeze of her hand. "We’re doing nothing wrong, you said so yourself..."

"Alexandria Woods, if you could step with me into this room," The guard called, coming out from behind the desk. Lexa rose, releasing Clarke's hand and allowing her fingers to trail over Clarke's. She followed, with no backward glance. Pushing herself back into the seat, Clarke could only wait. With her phone confiscated, she began to wish she had something to fidget with as the minutes passed. 

"Clarke Griffin," Called another agent from the front counter. "Could you come up here, please?" By now, she was more than ready to speak.

"Yes," she managed tightly, though she was nearly shivering from the _wrongness_ of it all. 

"What is your business at IOO today?"

"Well, until we got taken aside, we were _going_ to pick up a friend, who is coming in on a really--"

"Alright. And I have to ask you this, do you have any goods that might be considered dangerous on your person?"

Clarke fumed. She half considered telling him the tips Lexa had given her on how to use her keys, and her body in general as a weapon. 

"No."

"Alright. If you'll return to your seat, someone will be coming out in a moment just to check. Would you prefer a body scan, or a pat-down?"

"Are you going to do this to my girlfriend, too? Because--"

"Body scan or pat-down, Miss Griffin." It wasn't said as though it was a choice this time. Clarke stiffened. She was about to open her mouth when an officer emerged from behind the desk, heading toward the interrogation room. He had with him a dog in a vest labeled _DETECTION_. The dog strained and lunged at the leash, letting out a shrill yelp as it scrabbled toward the room where her girlfriend was being questioned. Clarke's mouth felt all dry, all of a sudden. 

"Are you seriously going to--"

"Miss Griffin, this is the last time I'll ask you in a way that gives you an option, do you understand? We can and do have the right to detain you right now.'

Clarke could hardly even stand the treatment she-- and Lexa were being given right now. The last thing she wanted, however, was to be absent when Lexa finally came out of questioning. 

"Body scan," she decided to the guard through gritted teeth. 

"I'll come around the desk and show you to it."

* * *

"Clarke." Clarke's head snapped up to see Lexa emerging from the interrogation room, looking stricken. With a sharp intake of breath, the blonde sprang from her seat in the waiting area and rushed toward her. 

"Babe, did they--" 

"Did you know that they use a German Shorthaired Pointer for explosives detection in this airport? They're phasing out prick-eared dogs because of their intimidating--"

"Are you okay?! Are we good?"

Lexa reached for her braid exasperatedly. "I feel fine, and we are _'good';_ we always were," she told Clarke. "But, as I was saying, the German Shepherds--"

"Babe, you can tell me all about it on the way to gate nine, okay?"

"Deal." Lexa reached for Clarke's hand once again. Let's go."


	5. Mom Duke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa gets to meet Abby for dinner, while simultaneously being herself and blending in with the humans. And being interrogated for the second time in one week.

They were headed to Clarke's house for dinner, because the blonde had faced the eventuality that her mother, Abby, was interested in meeting her new love. The pair had been steadily dating for several months, longer than any of the handful of relationships Clarke had succeeded in starting, but not maintaining, after Finn. The artist was proud of her girlfriend, but worried that her mother might not share the same sentiments. Abby was a wonder-woman, a super mom and a grieving wife, who managed it all while working the ER of Polis General Hospital. Clarke had seen her mother struggle tremendously since they had lost dad, but somehow, with a maid, a grocery service, an only daughter, and her job, Abby did it. She kept going. 

Clarke had never really brought home anyone who made a smaller income than herself and if truth be told, she was worried. Worried about what Abby would think of Lexa, worried about what Lexa would think about Abby, worried about getting the hundredth speech from her mother about taking care of herself before taking care of others, because she had a girlfriend with special needs. Abby had disapproved well enough of Finn that when the relationship had ended with a bang, Clarke had felt silly and stupid for getting so invested in Finn. Though she loved her parents deeply, it had hurt her, she supposed, when they had seemed so unsurprised that the relationship failed, like they had known something all along that she was too near-sighted herself to see. She just had to keep Lexa comfortable, she told herself, and it would work out. Probably. She desperately hoped her mother had no unwelcome comments to make. 

Lexa reclined in the passenger seat. It had been quite some time since Clarke had seen her in anything but her uniform or a printed shirt, usually with the sleeves cut off, and usually with a rap or animal motif, and well-worn jeans. The brunette had opted for some tidier-looking dark-wash jeans and a comfortable-looking Henley top that covered her tattoos, and clung to her lithe body nicely. She smelled faintly woodsy, and Clarke knew that it was the essential oils she used to put herself at ease, rather than a purpose-made fragrance. It was simply Lexa; she smelled of the forest, _"Because that's where I'm actually meant to be, Clarke."_

The guard had found a cute potted plant, some miniature roses in an earthenware pot, to present to Abby. Lexa didn’t approve of cut flowers, Clarke knew this much; _I see no point in paying $40 for some plants that are already dying, Clarke._ But occasionally, she would buy some flowers for Clarke, when she was purchasing a fresh flower for her Memorial, and always with it she would give Clarke extra packets of plant food with which Clarke was expected to extend her bouquet's life for as long as she could. 

“What are the rules,” Lexa wanted to know. 

“Rules for what, babe?” Clarke responded absently as she flipped on a blinker. 

“The rules in your house,” Lexa elaborated. 

“What? Oh. I don’t know, nothing really out of the ordinary, leave your shoes at the door, compliment my mom’s cooking… But she’ll be totally cool with it if there’s anything you can’t eat, okay? She got the food list and went off that, so it should be fine… Lex? Hm?” Lexa was resting her head against the seat, gazing vacantly out the window, her eyes tracking the lampposts as they flicked by the window. “Don’t make yourself dizzy,” the blonde warned. Sighing, she took a hand from the steering wheel to gently squeeze Lexa’s thigh. “Lexa? Look at me.”

“Yeah?” The older brunette lifted her head from the headrest to make eye contact with Clarke. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Lexa repeated with a nod, looking down to the plant. “Does your mother know anything about the meanings of flower color?”

“Huh?!”

“I hope not. Because they only had yellow roses, and they symbolize warmth and friendship, but also infidelity...”

“Well, I ain’t bringing no cheating girlfriend to my mom, Lexa, she trusts me on that.”

“Good.”

They were pulling into the driveway. Clarke put the car in park. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answered as she went into the glove box, grabbing her spiky ring.

“Let’s go.”

Clarke had taken pains to make sure this went smoothly. Nonetheless, she felt a flutter of anxiety in her stomach. Her mom was still gaining her bearings after the loss of her husband. She had been excitedly looking forward to meeting Lexa, and received the diet list, the rules of engagement on physical touch, eye contact, a warning not to ask Lexa about her family, and a second warning that Lexa could be abrupt at times. 

And on Abby’s part, she could be… too much an ER doctor. She loved to interrogate Clarke’s dates, and it made the blonde worry as to whether Lexa would hold up to questioning. There was also the issue of language; Lexa kept working-class company and had learned their terms by osmosis. And the music she listened to was laden with expletives. Hopefully too many f-bombs would not enter the polite conversation over dinner. 

Even with all the measures in place to make this a good night for the three of them, Clarke knew that where Lexa was in the equation, things tended to go in unexpected directions. It made her nervous. Inhaling deeply, she fished for her housekey and let them in through the front door. 

“Mom?” Clarke called into the house as she and Lexa toed off their shoes. Lexa was casting about for a shoe-rack, already feeling slightly lost. "Just leave them on the mat, babe," soothed Clarke as she hung her purse on the banister.

  
  


"Clarke," Came a voice from the kitchen as Abby strode into the living room, greeting her daughter first, enveloping her into a tight hug and rocking her. Shyly, Lexa hung back, regarding the two. It was foreign to her, so she memorized it, wide-eyed. 

  
  


"And you must be Lexa," Abby observed, knocking Lexa from her reverie, causing her to blink and shake her head a little. "Clarke's talked so much about you; given me all the highlights, and I'm intrigued, I must say," the doctor went on. "It's good to meet you at last, Lexa." It was said with sincerity. Remembering her basic manners, and how to shake a hand, Lexa extended hers. 

  
  


"Short for Alexandria," she explained, shaking Abby's hand with all her knowledge of handshakes in play, "I just prefer Lexa."

  
  


"That's quite the name to carry," Abby commented, releasing the guard's hand. 

  
  


"I manage it," confessed Lexa, "How, I'm not always sure... Oh, here, I brought something," she remembered, giving the plant to Clarke's mother.

"This is lovely, Lexa. Thank you," said Abby, holding the pot up and turning it this way and that to admire the miniature roses. "This could go by the kitchen window, Clarke..."

  
  


Clarke had paused to watch the interaction with interest, and now she jumped in to assist her girlfriend. 

  
  


"Mom, what did you whip up? It smells amazing."

  
  


The doctor smiled warmly to the two. Her warmth nearly knocked Lexa off her feet, almost. 

  
  


"Well, I've always wanted to try an eggplant lasagna," she began proudly, "With those ones from the garden. So that's what's on the menu for tonight."  
  


"Sounds awesome," Clarke agreed. The two followed Abby, but namely their noses, into the kitchen. Lexa drank in her surroundings as she went, noticing the warm atmosphere, the photos on the wall, the paintings, the books... the inviting-looking sitting area, the clutter. She felt as though she could spend hours exploring the kitchen and dining room alone, learning all about Clarke and her mother, and the late Jake Griffin. She drank it in with the full awareness that she might seem like Cinderella entering a palace, or Alice in Wonderland, and she had long since given up efforts in trying not to appear this way when she entered a "normal" family home. She simply couldn't give a fuck that she looked and felt as though she was in a storybook.

"Girls, sit," Abby instructed, gesturing to a large cherrywood table centered in the kitchen area. It was all beset with placemats and cutlery. "It should be cool enough by now," she decided as she placed a large pan of lasagna in the centre of the table. "And Lexa," she said, addressing the brunette, "I did get a look at the diet sheet Clarke sent me, and all of the ingredients are within your diet." 

"I'm grateful," Lexa responded. That was the only word for it. Wine was offered. She passed. She knew better; she did better. Abby uncorked the red, splashing a little into two glasses for herself and Clarke, while Lexa had her water.

"Well, Clarke, why don't you serve us up," Abby prompted her daughter, bringing over a salad bowl and some dinner rolls. "Gluten free." It was now more than ever that Lexa had to try not to appear stunned. _"You would do all this for me?"_ She wanted to ask, but that would be weird, she suspected. They dished lasagna and passed salad and rolls until all three plates were loaded. This family didn't say grace before they ate, Lexa noted. 

“So, Clarke tells me you do security,” Abby said inquiringly, approaching the elephant in the room while raising another forkful of the lasagna. “You seem very intelligent… What’s that like?” Clarke couldn’t put her finger on whether her mom was skeptical or curious about Lexa’s line of work. She prayed Lexa wasn’t having equal difficulty. 

“Mmm,” Lexa mused, swinging her foot as she swallowed. “Extremely interesting. I’m rarely bored. When I am, I meditate, or pray, or climb the stairs for exercise... It’s shift work, probably much like your job…”

“And that suits you?”

“Yes, I think. I enjoy evenings... the quiet, and the solitude. Until an incident happens, then I enjoy the excitement.”

“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Abby advised, her brows rising.

“Since I met your daughter, I try not to.”

“Wise girl.”

Lexa grinned secretively at this. 

“And in your free time, what do you get up to?” Abby wanted to know. Lexa paused mid-bite, at a loss for words. _Oh no._

“Other than spending time with your daughter,” She began slowly, gaze trailing to the centerpiece on the table. “I had a dog. He means very much to me…” Abby knew about the bite. Clarke hadn’t heard the end of the questioning about it until Clarke had been able to tell her with confidence that the dog was gone. “He’s in a better place, now, with a friend who can provide better for his—“

“Okay. I get it,” Said Abby, cutting Lexa off. “And other than the dog?”

Lexa shrugged, her mood dampened by now. 

“I volunteer,” she decided. “I help people like me, teach them to shop and take care of themselves. I have a pigeon. His name is Homie. He lives in a dog kennel on my patio. He needs to gain weight before he can fly again. I play Nintendo, just to relax. And I assist in manage my building part time. I get a break in rent for it. “

“Nice arrangement,” Abby was nodding in approval. Good. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, they say…” Lexa was silent for a long while, nodding, chewing on her food. Clarke wondered whether she should say something to break the silence. 

“I was always simply told to sit on them,” Lexa commented dryly. Clarke exchanged a look with her mom. She saw, in her mother’s eyes, a glint of genuine mirth. It was so nice to see.

“Well, Lexa, it sounds like you’re on the right career track, and I don’t doubt for a second that you’re the type who would make trouble if they weren’t given a job keeping everyone in line.”

“More or less,” Lexa nodded, satisfied with this assessment. “Tell me, Mrs. Griffin—“

“—Abby.”

“Tell me, Abby, do you come across lawyers in your emergency rooms? Do you think that when they die, they go to hell?”

Clarke sipped her wine, interested for her mother’s response. She was very sure her mom was interested in giving it. Abby took a swig, too. 

“Lawyers, hm?”

“Yes,” Lexa confirmed. “I’m sometimes told I should have been one, but I sit at my desk, and I watch quite a lot of them come past it. Once, I walked in on one doing blow in the washroom of her office.”

“They do seem to be gluttons for punishment,” Abby agreed. “We’ll get them in our ER, and before they can even tell us what is wrong with them, they _have_ to tell us that they’re a lawyer.”

“Maybe that _is_ what’s wrong with them,” Clarke chimed in. Lexa coughed a bit on her mouthful of lasagna. 

“Your daughter, Abby, occasionally—“

“She comes up with some good ones,” Abby supplied with a proud smile. 

“I know, but will you tell me what to do with them?” Lexa chuckled, “Because I keep getting the feeling with Clarke that I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into!” This earned her a swat on the thigh from the blonde. “And she’s violent; why did you raise her this way?!”

“To stand up to girls that are bigger than her,” Abby told Lexa with a smile. 

“Well, I love it,” Lexa decided. She looked over to Clarke, her green eyes meeting the blues fondly. Clarke could feel her mother watching intently. Truth be told, Lexa was the first girl she had brought home to her mother, after so many failed attempts to find Lexa’s sort on dating apps. 

“Mom, how are your tae-bo classes going?” Clarke thought to ask.   
  


“Good,” Abby reported over her plate. “Getting my punches and my kicks up to scratch...”  
  


Lexa chewed, nodding, following the conversation in wise silence as Abby told them about the hobby she had found in martial arts. 

“It might be something you’d be interested in, Lexa, with your line of work...”

The brunette swallowed. 

“Ah, to the contrary, I’d like to stay away from anything where I practice throwing punches,” she responded. “What, with current events... mishaps on the police force... I know how to defend myself well enough... I don’t think it would be appropriate... to practice attacking any further.”

“So you consider yourself a pacifist?” Abby inquired. 

“My voice is enough. I use my words.”

“Do you ever try creative writing?”

“I prefer poetry, actually. Listening to it.”

“Oh Clarke, she would have been a favorite with your father,” Abby told her daughter wistfully. “I wish he could have met you, Lexa. And given you the fourth degree now that I’ve given you the third degree...”

“From what Clarke has told me,” Lexa responded, closing her eyes for a moment, “You’d know exactly what to do with me as a burn victim... though that’s not what I aim for. I don’t play with fire.”

Abby’s shoulders bounced. She set her fork on her empty plate. 

“Anyways...”

They were all pushing back from the table a bit, sated by the meal, sitting in comfortable silence until Clarke spoke up.

"Did you swing by the bakery, mom?"

"I _did_ ," Abby remembered, her brown eyes alight once more. "And wait til you see what I got, girls... Give me a minute..."

Clarke and Lexa exchanged a look as Abby rose from the table, going excitedly to the counter by the stove, where a white pastry box sat. As Lexa was about to ask something to Clarke, Abby returned to the table, sliding the pan of lasagna aside to place down a plate of fudgey-looking brownies. 

“Oh...” Said Lexa, torn between longing and duty as the Griffin women reached for the dessert plates, and each helped themselves to one. Lexa felt seduced, by the power of the chocolate. It was a tale as old as time, or at least, as old as JRR Tolkien, Lexa supposed. 

“I know that look,” Abby proclaimed as she watched the brunette eye the brownies. 

“I know, mom, but it’s not on her—“

“Let her make up her mind, Clarke,” Abby reminded her daughter evenly. “Lexa, you’re welcome to refuse if you need, but in my experience...,” she paused here, “And this is my advice to you... a little chocolate does every woman good...”

Lexa pursed her lips, gaze trained on the plate, entertaining the doctor's opinion. Slowly, she took a clean knife and cut one judiciously in half, taking a part for herself. 

“For Valhalla,” said Lexa as she bit into the brownie. Clarke giggled as she watched her girlfriend in close-eyed bliss, for the first time outside of the bedroom. 

“We are the Amazons,” Abby chuckled, cutting off another large bite of her brownie with her fork. 

“I didn’t know I was being tag-teamed by female warriors,” Clarke laughed between bites of her brownie. 

Lexa’s eyes found Abby’s. As Clarke dug into her brownie, they smiled softly to each other, like they knew something that Clarke did not. 


	6. Valhalla (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess what?
> 
> Clexa smut.

“She fucking _loves_ you,” Clarke whispered gleefully when they were safe in Clarke’s suite downstairs, vaulting up and wrapping her thighs around her girlfriend’s narrow hips. Lexa was getting more used to this favorite move of Clarke’s and stumbled less, her hands finding the round of the blonde’s buttocks without a second thought. Her had earned herself a big kiss on the cheek. It tingled, afterward. 

  
“How could you tell?” Lexa wanted to know, surprised, but pleased. She always did, since Clarke usually answered as honestly and as thoroughly as she could. 

"Oh, Lexa, she's my mother, I just... do. Didn't you see her going all mother-hen on you?"

"Clarke... I wouldn't really know," Lexa confessed with a quirk of her lips, "Without a baseline for her typical beh-- Shut up, Lexa," she mumbled the last part acknowledgingly into the kiss, groaning with unabashed need. It grew and grew in the pit of her belly as Clarke wiggled her hips, grinding them slowly into her stomach. At long last, Lexa pulled back to watch Clarke, wide-eyed, mouth left open and panting. 

It struck Clarke then that her poor girlfriend was probably overstimulated, pent up, and hyped on caffeine and chocolate. She could hear the fact before Lexa said it. _Chocolate is an aphrodisiac, Clarke, second to oysters... which are just plain vaginal in pretty much every respect..._

_"_ Lexxxxaaa," Clarke drawled, bringing a hand up to trace her nails over the taller brunette's collarbone. Lexa was already on it, and walking the two of them toward the bedroom. With each time spent in Clarke's place, she got better and better at it. It was a first, for Lexa to spend the entire night at Clarke's, however. 

Cradling her girlfriend's defined jawline in both hands, Clarke went in for another kiss as Lexa backed into the bed, sitting first, allowing them to slowly tilt over. She was already humming and moaning with need, as Clarke palmed her breasts through her shirt, fingers knowingly finding her nipples through the thin fabric of the bra. Clarke knew. She knew it was Lexa's absolute favorite to be touched like this, so that the sensation spread over the fabric, watering it down into something much more palatable, to start. The blonde dipped her hand south to palm the warrior's heat through her jeans, smirking as Lexa's head dropped to the mattress with a groan, letting her hips do the talking for her. 

Lexa thought at last to start squirming out of her shirt, prompted by Clarke's removal of her pants. Clarke had to laugh as she got a little caught, driven to distraction by the sensation of Clarke's teasing fingers over the crotch of her panties, right where her clit was. Lexa could literally come in her panties; they had tried it, and Clarke recalled with a smile Lexa's breathless insistence that they do it again. She was intent on it, until she felt a gentle hand in her hair, urging her up into another kiss.

  
“Too keyed up,” Lexa murmured against Clarke's lips, “I need to calm down...”

"How?" Clarke was asking.

"I brought massage oils."

"Of course you did, girlscout."

"Did you expect anything less," Lexa breathed, her brows rising, "You should see what else I brought."

Hopping off Lexa, Clarke tiptoed to the brunette's overnight bag, while Lexa pushed herself up on her elbows, savoring the every appearance of her beautiful, horny, curious, half-naked girlfriend. Lexa drank the vision in, from the delicate flaxen curls pouring down Clarke's shoulders to the sun-kissed rounds and planes of her body, to the magenta lace accenting her curvaceous form leaning over the overnight bag on the chair. Clarke paused her search to cast a devious look over her shoulder, bringing the brunette from her spell. Lexa knew what Clarke had found. A small, but wolfish grin curved her lips, causing Clarke to bite hers.

"Come touch me," Lexa urged, peeling off her sports bra, leaving her boy shorts, and climbing onto her stomach in the center of the bed. It was a rare event, but Clarke was beginning to try her own patience, for a change. Lexa hummed happily as she felt the mattress sink to her left, and in the next instant, Clarke's soft, thighs were cradling her pelvis as Clarke seated herself on her ass. Another hum of approval was drawn from Lexa as she smelt the subtle but sensuous blend of sandalwood, jasmine, pepper and ylang ylang that she had crafted herself; tailored to her likes. It was better that she made her own and made it to her comfort, rather than taking a chance on synthetic scents that would arouse nothing but irritation and congestion in her. As Clarke oiled her palms, Lexa thought to remind the artist so that she didn't overextend her hands and her wrists, which were essential to her work.

"I don't need it hard, Clarke, I just need you to trace-- _Ohh,_ " Lexa trailed off in a moan as Clarke began to work the oil into her back.

"You're tense, babe," the artist noted with a frown as she ran her hands down the column of Lexa's spine.

"Not for long," Lexa could only groan into the pillows as the spreading sensation of Clarke's fingers took root. Before long, she was twisting under the curvy thighs, baring her front for Clarke's ministrations. “Scratch,” she pled hoarsely, bringing Clarke’s hand to her chest. Smiling as she indulged her, the blonde drew aimless patterns with her fingernails over the beginnings of a blush appearing beneath the inked antlers that adorned Lexa's collarbone. In short order, this had Lexa whining and rocking her hips up into Clarke's pelvis as the green eyes skittered around the room, blinking shut. One long, tattooed arm shot up to bring Clarke's head gently down. Lexa leaned up to whisper something into the shell of Clarke's ear.

“I-I can smell how wet you are... I can do that, hm?”

Clarke gasped in spite of herself. She felt a fresh surge of heat between her legs.

“You... g-gotta be patient, okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” Clarke whispered with a knowing smile.

The only response Lexa was capable of was a long, hoarse and needy whine. It was just... Clarke. Clarke, who left her literally lost for words. How she looked, how she sounded, how she tasted, the scent of her, how she felt... it made Lexa feel blessed that she could appreciate it so fully, because she processed it so slowly. Her hips surged of their own accord into Clarke's palm where she had snuck it between their bodies to cup Lexa's sex. Knowingly, the blonde traced Lexa's folds and the sensitive hood of her clit with her deft fingers, quickly bringing the older woman off.

“Nnh,” Lexa whimpered as her hips stuttered, panting as orgasm gripped her. No sooner did she begin to come down than was she taking Clarke by the hips, both urging her upwards and tugging her panties down. With her usual grace, Clarke managed both requests, shuffling up over her girlfriend's face, a smile gracing her lips as Lexa whimpered and strained her neck upward, intoxicated by the scent of her arousal. Shins pinning Lexa's shoulders, Clarke thought to take advantage over the situation as she hovered over Lexa's face.

"Ask nicely," purred Clarke with a devious smile. What she got in return was a martyred look and a _loud_ , pitiful whimper.

"Ok! Shh! My mom's upstairs," Clarke shushed Lexa, by lowering her sex to the kiss swollen lips below her.

Lexa's next wordless response came muffled into Clarke's puffy folds and the sensation made her mewl and buck atop the guard's mouth. Lexa traced her folds carefully, studiously avoiding Clarke's clit, before going to probe the blonde's entrance greedily with her tongue. When she had licked every last bit of wetness collecting at Clarke's entrance, she repeated the pattern, her tongue eventually wandering down to collect the fresh need that had welled up again. Clarke was in ecstasy. Glancing to the mirror above her dressed, she caught the sight of herself grinding wantonly onto Lexa's face as an inked arm crept up to fondle a breast through her bra. Without a second thought, she reached behind her, hastily removing the garment and toss it aside.

Clarke's arousal mounted and mounted as Lexa's fingers found her nipples, blindly but skilfully pinching and rolling her nipples until the buds were swollen and flushed a deep pink. Had she ever had it so good? She wanted to spend the entire night on Lexa's face, working herself to orgasm after orgasm, and the best thing of all were Lexa's needy whines, her feet shifting and curling at the end of the bed. Reaching a hand down into Lexa's soft waves, Clarke let her head fall back, just feeling and breathing. When she felt Lexa's tongue lap gently at her swollen clit, she had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out as she began to come hard on Lexa's tongue. All through it, Lexa's empathetic whines and the fingers on her nipples kept her coasting.

When, at last, she came down, Lexa began to push rudely at her thighs, shuffling out from under them as soon as she was allowed the space. Clambering off the bed, she went for the overnight bag, producing from it the strapless and the harness and donning them with practiced ease. Lexa wasted no time in lubing the toy as she returned to the bed. Clarke was already on her hands and knees, ass thrust invitingly into the air. The brunette reeled and groaned a little, simply at the sight of it, before climbing onto the bed again, positioning herself hastily behind Clarke.

The first thrust was so deliciously deep; Clarke was positive Abby would hear it. In this moment, she couldn't give a fuck. Lexa pulled her hips back and hilted again, and this time Clarke squeaked into the pillow as the brunette began a deep and steady rhythm. Turning her head on the pillow, Clarke watched them, transfixed by the image in the mirror of her girlfriend moving on top of her, jaw hung wide open, brows knit in bliss. Whenever the stimulation became too much, too fast, Lexa would shake it with a thrash of her head, her tousled mane swishing, slowing momentarily, then continue the climb.

"Breathe, baby, breathe," whimpered Clarke.

“C—...” Lexa bit her lip, swaying backward for a beat, but her hips kept their hard, steady rhythm of their own accord. 

“Lexa, Lexa, baby, I need you to fuck— need you to breathe,” Clarke babbled quietly below her, “It’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good, Lexa...”

Lexa couldn’t help her volume and Clarke knew that was why the brunette had to turn her head and take the delicate flesh of her own upper arm between her teeth, bearing down on it gently as her hips worked without relent. 

As Clarke neared the edge of her own orgasm, she had to turn her head into the pillow to mute her cries and above her, Lexa went all quiet, her lips rolled between her teeth, her eyes rolled to the back of her skull, breathing hard through her nose. They trembled where they were joined for what felt like endless minutes, warm fluid soaking down the insides of their thighs. 

Finally; finally Lexa eased up, slowing, and Clarke sagged beneath her, both girls panting hard. They lay facing each-other, gaining their breath back, for at least three times as long as their orgasm. 

When their breathing was at last slowed to normal, Lexa trailed a finger thoughtfully along Clarke’s brow line and down her cheek. 

“Princess...”

It was rare that she would use a pet name with Clarke. Clarke realized she hadn’t yet heard Lexa call her by anything other than her name.

“What kind?” Clarke wanted to know.

Lexa blinked softly as she searched the blue, blue eyes, the fact that Clarke worked above her, the idea that Clarke had come crashing down from SkyCrew and into her life. Clarke embodied the element of air.

“Clarke, from SkyCrew... _Sky Princess_ ,” she decided somnolently.

Clarke liked that nickname.


	7. A Tactical Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa makes a significant change.

It was a gray summer day, the coolish sort where the clouds would sweep in and let a light drizzle down, gently quenching the earth after so much hotness and dryness. Clarke awoke alone in her bed. It was a familiar feeling now, for Lexa was the sort to stay up late, and also wake up early. Stretching, she reached above the headboard for her phone, scrolling through her unread texts, and then going on to check her Facebook, her Instagram, her tumblr and her Pinterest. Lexa was much simpler when it came to social media; she had a reddit, so far as Clarke knew, a very private Facebook account which she would use mostly to share memes among her coworkers, and that was it. Once, she had admitted to having a twitter, but she had thought the better of it. _The world cannot always handle the truth I speak, Clarke, so I deleted it_. 

Twenty minutes later she was slipping out of bed and into her favorite silk bathrobe to go put on some coffee for herself and Lexa. Lexa was not in the house. She knew intuitively where Lexa would be: outside. Peeping out the window of the kitchen, she could see Lexa on her patio set, hunched over her journal, cigarette in hand, pen in the other. Satisfied, she went back to fixing their cups of coffee-- Lexa's would be black, with one ice cube to cool it down, and her own would be laden with cream and sugar, a preference for which she had forgotten to be sorry about, since meeting Lexa. Opening the door a little, she grabbed their cups and brushed through the door, going to kiss the top of Lexa's head as she deposited the offering of coffee before her. Lexa grunted. 

"I would like tea today," Lexa mumbled to her journal, catching Clarke off guard. She took a drag of her cigarette, before resting it on an ashtray she had improvised from an empty soft drink can. 

"Hm?"

"Tea." Lexa gestured to a cup that Lexa hadn't seen from the window, sitting at the edge of the patio table. 

"Everything alright?" She asked without thinking. _Was that anxious? Was that rude?_

Lexa set her pen down carefully, reaching for the mug and taking a thoughtful sip. 

"Not really, Clarke. I have to function without my service animal."

Clarke was lost for words. It was so early in the morning, still. 

"What do you mean?" She asked, still half-asleep. 

"Sit down and drink your coffee, Clarke," Lexa reminded her. "And I will tell you..." She paused, leaning thoughtfully back as Clarke seated herself, before sparking up another cigarette, and leaning forward again. It was lecture time, Clarke realized sleepily. She just had to sit like she did back in college, and do her best to absorb as she drank her coffee. 

"Clarke... Animals improve mood and function in differently-abled people, and in people with PTSD," Lexa began. "Mine wasn't a service animal or an emotional support animal in the legal sense, but that's how Titus served me. And how I served Titus. I helped him and he helped me, in equal parts. I am a dog codependent, if you would... Now, he is gone. I don't know if he will come back, I don't know if I should be getting a new dog, I don't know if I should be making it a goal to get a legit emotional support animal or service animal, or if I should even try. I don't have a diagnosis, much less a doctor's recommendation that I own an animal for my own mental health..." She paused here, for a sip of tea. 

"If I think too much about it, I will lose function further. Like the last time, Clarke. I will become very... well, retarded."

"Don't say that," Clarke said instinctively, her coffee forgotten in her defense of her girlfriend. 

"Why would I not, Clarke? _Listen. It's true._ I've been traumatized, probably from the womb, from the generations before me, even, and trauma retards people. One way or another, Clarke, I have a traumatic brain injury, and I lost my service animal."

"Lexa, stop saying it like that," Clarke begged softly. Her girlfriend shook her head resolutely. 

"It's the truth. I speak it compulsively. Listen."

Defeated, Clarke sat back. Lexa ducked her head, swallowing a mouthful of tea with determination.

"The British--," she began again, stopping herself. "Wait, we're not at that part yet. Um... Where were we?"

"You're retarded and you speak the truth? Even though I am really not liking your tone about this whole thing?"

"Yes. Listen. I'll improve it, you'll see."

"Okay, Lexa."

"Don't interrupt. It side-tracks me."

"Alright, Lexa."

Lexa pursed her lips, centering herself. 

"I just need to accept my circumstances and drink the tea, Clarke. I need to switch to tea. The Indians do it, and they are calm and resilient in the face of all the trauma their country has suffered. I am like them... Clarke," she broke away from her train of thought with a proud smile. "Did you know, they say, I'm brown on the inside? They say I fight like a brown girl!"

"Lexa, back to your point," Clarke encouraged gently, still barely through her first cup of coffee. 

"Well, the Indians drink tea, and they are calm in the face of trauma. The Chinese drink tea, and they are calm in the face of trauma. The British saw this, and they took their tea by force. They drank it through two world wars. They are calm in the face of war. The French drank coffee, to stimulate thought and conversation in coffee houses, but they lose their nerve in a fight..."

"So, you would like tea from now on?" Clarke was trying to hurry it up. Lexa took another sip.

"Yes, because it gives me a tactical advantage... In my battles... In spite of the war I've already been through."

"It's tactical. Of course." Clarke smiled knowingly.

"Yes, Clarke, I've been trying to bring you to that point, and I've had my second cup... Do you know what that means Clarke?"

"What, babe?"

"I'm hyper. I'm going to go for a run... Like Alan Turing... Who drank tea..."

"Okay, babe," Clarke agreed. In spite of her coffee, she felt ready to crawl back into bed, just as she used to between her first and second lectures of the day.

"I should invite your mother's opinion on my retardation," Lexa mused as she stood up.

"Please, don't."

"Okay."


	8. The Commander's Tent

Clarke looked down, startled. She was wearing a sackcloth dress with a rough jute belt cinching it just below her breast. Her feet were wrapped in rags. _Where was she?_ Surrounding her was a magical-looking wood. Sun filtered through the dark, thick evergreens, igniting the moss and ferns that carpeted the ground, the tree roots and the stumps. Motes of pollen swirled and drifted lazily through the shafts of sunlight. _Was it dawn, or evening?_ She didn't know. Something caught her eye on the ground before her. And something else. And something else... Three objects lay upon the ground; a rust-eaten sword here, a shield made from wood and hide, a small, but sharp-looking flint dagger... There was one more, she realized. A careworn wooden staff stood upright, embedded in the soft earth.

_Was she in the starting zone?_

A sense of unease gripped her. Proceeding forward, she picked up the dagger, tucking it carefully in her belt. She hoped it wouldn't saw at it. It fit nicely at her side. Ambitiously, she went for the sword, too, but it was heavy when she hefted it. Too heavy to travel with. _She had to get out of here. She had to get to Lexa. Lexa would know what to do_. Up and to her right, Clarke saw a deer trail opening in on the small glade. _Was that the path she was to take?_ Turning around, she saw no other trails leading out of the clearing. The artist glanced back to the deer path. It must be safe, she reasoned; safe enough for deer, at least. She hurried down it.

Up ahead, she could see more and more sunlight coming through the dense foliage. That was good, right? She must be nearing the edge of the forest. What she would find there, she did not know, but the forest was dark, and unsafe, and she was alone, and so she had to find her way out of the woods. Her makeshift shoes made no noise as they fell upon the moss, and for that, Clarke was grateful. She felt like she had to hide. The trail opened on a clearing. Rushing to the mouth of the trail for a better view, she was relieved to see that it looked like it was dawn. The sun was towards the east. _The sun rises in the east, and sets in the west, Clarke, did you not know that? And the mountains are to the North..._

Looking down the clearing, she could see an immense tent made from brown skins and leathers and logs. Again, anxiety seized her. _Could they help? Or would they hurt her?_ Hugging the shade at the edge of the forest, she made her way closer to get a better look. 

At the entrance of the tent stood a man that she recognized as... Gus. He looked so different. He was all clad in armor that looked like something from Nocta 3... His hair was long and done up in braids. He and Indra stood before a man that she recognized from Oliver's. She couldn't forget his name; it was too unique. It was Roan. He ambled drunkenly forward to the entrance of the tent, only to be pushed firmly back by Gus and Indra's pikes. Clarke began to run. _She needed them to help._

"Gus, Gus! It's me, Clarke, Lexa's girlfriend?" She all but begged as she made her way down the gentle slope of the meadow. 

"What in the-- Clarke? Clarke! Get over here," Gus called, pausing to wave her down while Indra dragged Roan to the side. 

"Oh my god, I'm so glad I found you guys--" Clarke began to gush, only to be cut off by the large guard. 

"Ah ah ah, say no more," Gus spoke to her in a reassuring voice, "It's all good, Clarke, Lexa's waiting just inside for you."

Clarke could have cried from relief. She wanted to throw her arms around the man and hug him, but her better sense stopped her. Gus opened the flap of the tent with his pike. 

"Right this way, ma'am," he told her with a wink. "If you break her heart, I'll catch your noggin on this big stick of mine..."

"Ahh, I see how it is," she heard Roan complain loudly. "Ladies move right to the front of the line..." She heard a soft thump.

"Shof op," barked Indra.

Within the tent stood Lexa. She was all clad in gear that looked like the rogue outfit of Ratchet Flack. Her wavy brown hair was done up in intricate braids. Intently, she stared into a small handheld mirror, daubing her face and eyes with black war paint, the tips of her graceful fingers darkened by the mixture. She paused while a faceless woman strapped a pauldron fashioned from an old tire to her. Clarke sensed it was Anya.

“Clarke. Sky Princess. I knew you would find me,” Lexa spoke at last, green eyes dancing as she lifted them to Clarke's. She set the palette down on a table by a throne-like looking structure fashioned from tree branches. Stepping brusquely forward, she took Clarke into her arms and kissed her soundly on the temple, then again on the lips. Clarke could have sobbed, for relief, but a new feeling overtook her. 

“Lexa, what the hell?! Where are we? You knew I was looking for you? The whole time?!"

"Clarke. I am sorry I caused this," Lexa said, her tone pregnant with compassion as she stepped back, allowing herself to be chastised. "But you had to find me on your own..."

"What? What the hell sense does that make? I was terrified, Lexa!"

"I am sorry I allowed that to happen," Lexa persisted calmly. 

"What happened to me? I want to know, Lexa!"

The Commander shut her mouth, tilting her head and looking upon Clarke with a serenity that was almost more infuriating. 

"That's not the point, Clarke."

"Why am I like this?" _Where the hell did that question come from?_

"That's not the question to ask..."

"What do you mean, it's not the question to ask?" Clarke cried, coming close to tears yet again, this time from frustration.

"Clarke. You are just... _like this_. And I _love you_. That's all..."

Again, Lexa opened her arms to Clarke, and this time she couldn't stay away; she couldn't stay mad. She all but threw herself into Lexa's arms and cried. 

"I was so scared... I was alone, out there... I thought I'd never ever find you!"

"I know, Clarke, I know, I know," Lexa soothed. "Don't be afraid, Clarke, it doesn't become you," she added gently, giving the blonde a squeeze. "You are braver than you give yourself credit for..."

"What were you doing?" Clarke wanted to know, "Lexa, why are they putting armor on you?" She was sure she knew why, she just didn't like it. 

Lexa fixed her with a quizzical smile. She was _so_ calm, almost infuriatingly so. 

"To battle, I suppose," she reasoned. Lexa, and her damn reasoning. 

"What if I don't want you to?!"

"Then, I guess you don't want me to, but I must do it anyways...." responded Lexa, returning to the chair and taking up a small pocket mirror, reaching into a palette on the table beside her and applying thick black paint to her brow. "I'm meant for it, Clarke; it's the way of things..."

"No you don't have to! I don't want you to go--" Clarke began to protest. 

"Clarke. Compose."

"You're my girlfriend and I don't want you to get hurt!"

"Clarke. It's okay."

"You could get _killed_."

"It's okay. Be okay, Sky Princess..."

"If I lose you-- I can't do this without you!"

"You've survived, so far. Compose... Clarke... Clarke... Clarke..."

_Clarke_. Her eyes popped open. She was face to face with Lexa, who recoiled gently, with a smile. They were in Clarke's bed, with the noon sun flowing in through the blinds. Lexa was freshly showered, her damp hair put up into a loose braid. She smelled faintly of fir and pine, and was wearing her favorite pit-bull shirt. 

"Good afternoon now, Clarke," she spoke gently. A twinge of agitation ran through the artist. _How long had she been passed out for?_

"Lex, what time is it?" Clarke inquired, her voice rough with sleep, still. Rolling back, Lexa checked her phone. 

"Thirteen oh-three."

"In PST, Lex."

"One o'clock."

"Oh. Well, fuck," Clarke cursed, squeezing her eyes shut and stretching tiredly in the sheets. "You could have woken me up... Holy shit..." She pawed the spot behind her pillow for her phone, checking it. 

"Maybe you needed the sleep... You were in the rapid eye movement phase, which is the most restful--"

"I _better_ be rested after all that."

"I hope so," Lexa conceded. Leaning up, Clarke placed a kiss to her lips, for her sweetness. 

"Sorry I left you alone all morning..."

"It's okay, Clarke. I took a shower, journaled, then played animal crossing, then I came in here to be with you and watch you sleep... Is that creepy?" Lexa asked curiously.

"Babe, no! Kinda wish you woke me up instead of sleeping until god-knows-when, though..."

Lexa flopped back on the pillow, eyeing her playfully. 

"Oh, I had other ideas in mind to wake you up with, Clarke, I badly wanted to do so, I just didn't have your consent..."

"Well, since I'm awake now, would you like it?"


	9. Hypersensitive (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Lavender by Ashleigh Ball

A slow grin spread across Lexa's face as she took the response in. Irrespective of the fact that she had done her best to tire herself during her jog several hours before, she was clearly ready to go again. Clarke felt the anticipation spreading between her legs as Lexa inched closer for a slow, sensuous kiss. 

When they broke for air, the brunette's mouth found her jawline, and the sensitive spot under the corner, running her lips over and over it, groaning at the sensation. It was both sweet and maddening, how much satisfaction Lexa could derive simply from coursing her lips over Clarke's flesh. Nuzzling into the artist's neck, Lexa hummed in contentment as she inhaled and kissed, enjoying the scent and feel of the girl under her lips. 

"So soft," Came her hot praise sung just below Clarke's ear, as a hand wandered up to palm a generous breast through the flimsy t-shirt the blonde had worn to bed. They both groaned as Lexa brushed and tweaked a nipple hardening beneath the gauzy fabric. The brunette noted with satisfaction the deepening pink of the stiffening bud coming to a point below the sheer tee. 

Impulsively, she rucked the shirt up, exposing both of Clarke’s glorious breasts. A knowing hum rumbled from deep within her as the blonde pushed her breasts upward with enthusiasm, encouraging her attention. Leaning down to take her prize, Lexa chose the neglected breast to caress with her lips, while she continued to palm Clarke’s right breast. Her dexterous fingers grasped the nipple, tweaking it playfully. This elicited more praises from Clarke. _She was reading Clarke. She was doing well._ The sense of mastery caused Lexa’s cleft to swell. _She wanted more._ She had to be patient; she had to savor. 

Switching her mouth and her fingers, Lexa lavished Clarke’s breasts with equal attentions, moaning as she felt the artist’s fingers thread into her hair. The sensation of her fingertips against her scalp made her shiver, in a good way. She could spend hours at this. Lexa realized she was rubbing her own thighs together to alleviate the heat. She wanted to shimmy up, straddle Clarke's thigh had ride her to orgasm, but even more than that, she wanted to run her lips all over the blonde's beautiful stomach, to feel the softness on her mouth. 

Lexa inched down, running her closed lips all over the gentle curves of Clarke's tummy, causing the blonde to thrash and giggle. Correcting herself, she dropped slow, open-mouthed kisses over the exposed flesh, allowing her tongue to dip into Clarke's navel. With a whine, she realized that she could already smell Clarke's arousal through her panties. Eagerly continuing her path to the hem of them, she stopped to place sweet kisses where the fabric bordered Clarke's flesh, and she seemed to like this, so Lexa did the same along the cut lines of each of Clarke's thighs, where the cotton met her tender skin. 

Now, Clarke was undulating her hips, hard. To make it still, so that she could kiss and feel with her mouth, Lexa leaned up, taking a hip in each hand and pushing the blonde's pelvis firmly but gently down into the mattress. She looked into Clarke's eyes.

"Mine," Lexa instructed softly.

Ducking back down, satisfied with the stillness, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of Clarke's panties, dragging them off. They peeled and stuck about Clarke's wetness, and both girls whimpered as the scent of Clarke hit Lexa's nose more fully. Without a further sound, Lexa was delving down, stretching out on her belly, shuffling Clarke's thighs over her shoulders to she could trail her fingers idly along them while she bathed Clarke's sex in large, broad licks, groaning and savoring the buttery taste as it spread on her tongue. 

She wanted more and more of it, after she had cleaned it up. She wandered her lips up to Clarke's straining bud, carefully enveloping it in her lips and dancing her tongue all around the hood before placing firm licks to the sides, where the artists' clit extended below her flesh. She had looked it up; how to do that. It earned her a throaty whimper, so her tongue found Clarke's entrance again and sought out every last drop of the fresh, slippery heat that had collected there. Lexa felt her own sex swelling in her form-fitting boyshorts. She was probably soaked, she realized. She didn't know what she wanted to do about that. 

"Want your fingers," Clarke decided breathlessly for her. Without hesitation, Lexa unwound the tanned legs from about her shoulders, rising and finding the blonde's entrance with her fingers as she straddled a thigh. As she pushed into Clarke, she pushed her crotch into a shapely thigh, and from there, she couldn't think or speak so well. She simply needed to move. On Clarke. _With Clarke._ She needed to bite her lip, and thrash her head, and close her eyes, and she needed to fuck her exquisite, aroused, babbling girlfriend. 

It all became so much, so fast, that she had to fall down atop Clarke and push her face hard into the spot where the crook of the blonde's neck met the pillow, and immerse herself in the darkness, and the scent of her hair, and the sound of her cries, and the feel of her between her legs, and the feel of Clarke's hot, slick channel fluttering about her two fingers. Lexa's hips went hard and fast, and she couldn't stop it. It didn't matter.

A hoarse sob escaped Lexa as she jogged her hips, then she went all silent, shaking. Her short, sharp pants echoed in Clarke’s ears as she stiffened and ground down hard. A fresh, hot slickness coated Clarke’s hip. It was enough to make her yelp as her own orgasm overtook her. She bore down hard on Lexa’s twitching, curling fingers, spasming.

Lexa knew they had both ridden their orgasms back down to earth when her clit began to burn; too sensitized. Carefully, she lifted her hips, slipping off the younger woman and collapsing down onto the mattress beside her, panting and stimming; flexing her calves and curling and uncurling her toes. The blonde mewled as Lexa slowly slid her fingers from her heat, taking them to her mouth without thinking and sucking them clean of every last bit of Clarke. Her chin and cheeks were wet too; she didn’t like that outside of sex, so she leaned over Clarke to the side of the bed where they kept a fresh hand-towel and wiped herself dry. 

Flopping back down into the pillows, they held hands, coming down, and Lexa closed her eyes so she could hear and feel Clarke’s gentle breathing. Their legs stretched out and tangled together for a few minutes of blissful quiet. 

It was Clarke who pushed up first, struggling from the bed and snatching her robe from the door before padding to the shower. 

“Compose,” Lexa meditated to herself, stretching out, enjoying the quiet for a bit longer. At length, she crawled off the bed, going to her overnight bag, where all her things were kept neat and organized in one place amongst the chaos of Clarke’s bedroom, fetching out her phone, a fresh pair of underwear, her journal, her pen and her smokes. 


	10. Breakfast for Lunch

"Oh yeah...," Lexa announced from her seat at the table as Clarke padded into the kitchen. "I cleaned a little... straightened..." 

Clarke could only gape as she took in the kitchen and the living room. It didn't look like her place, anymore. It looked like Lexa's place, in her place. The basket of clean laundry that had been sitting by her couch since last Saturday had been sorted and folded on the table, towels, t-shirts, underwear and socks all laid out in neat stacks. The dishes in her sink had been all washed, and stacked carefully into the drying rack. Clarke noticed with a twinge of shame that Lexa had even found the dirty dishes she had hidden in the oven while Lexa put her things into the bedroom the previous night. Looking down, Clarke confirmed her suspicion that the floor had been swept.

And her art table; her sacred art table, had been rearranged, so that all her sketchbooks were leaning neatly against the corner. Her pens and utensils were sorted and lined up at the top of the desk, her paints closed and tucked away, her charcoals and pastels back in their respective boxes. 

Apprehensively, Lexa stood. 

"It is okay?" Lexa wanted to know, hovering a bit. "Do you feel happy?"

"Yeah, Lex... I just..."

_She didn't know how to feel._ Clarke supposed she felt a little like she was in the starting zone, again.

"You didn't have to do all this, Lexa," She began again, a little guiltily.

"I know," Lexa agreed out loud. _But she did._ She did have to do it. "Anyways..."

"Let's get us something to eat," Clarke declared, shaking the feeling she couldn't even identify to begin with, and padding over to the fridge. Opening it, she saw that it had been spared from Lexa's warpath of orderliness. "Don't look, Lex," she warned playfully as she caught her girlfriend peeking over her shoulder. 

"The parmesan is expired--"

"Lexa. It's okay. It's safe to eat after the date..."

"Really?" Lexa was drawing her phone from her pocket, opening the web browser and punching in her query. Blinking as the results she quietly pocketed it again with a shrug. "You're correct," she said in a voice barely above a mumble. 

"Hm? What was that," Clarke prompted, taking from the refrigerator some eggs, some shredded cheese, and digging in the produce drawer for a bell pepper. To her dismay, she found the whole bag spoiled. 

"You're right," Lexa intoned quietly. 

"I'm what?" Clarke continued, unable to disguise her smirk except by turning her back to Lexa as she found some frozen carrots and peas in the freezer. 

"You're right," Lexa tried again, at speaking volume. 

"There's a girl..."

This only earned her a mildly injured look. Clarke shook her head as she took a mixing bowl down from the dishrack, cracking some eggs into it and whisking in the peas and carrots, throwing in some seasonings. Lexa poured herself some more hot water into her tea, before taking her seat at the table, pulling her phone out to browse the news. As Clarke cooked, she gave the highlights, along with her commentary on which politicians were _'pinheads'_ , which celebrities were _'nitwits'_ , and, occasionally, which public figures _'actually had the right idea'_. 

When the carrot and pea omelette was placed before her, she ate in grateful silence, and Clarke could tell by the soft but swift tapping of her foot on the kitchen floor that the meal was appreciated. Had it not quite been to Lexa's liking, Clarke supposed, she wouldn't have heard the end about world events in the news, until the food grew cold and she had to remind her to finish it. 

“Everything has become clear again,” Lexa observed as she scraped her plate. “With the exercise... the cleaning... the sex, the food..."

“What’s clear?” Clarke asked, ready to be either entertained, intrigued, perhaps even mildly offended. 

“What I should do next,” Lexa responded casually, finishing her meal and aligning the fork and knife at three o’clock position.

“Hm?”

“I need to walk in the forest... like, a nature walk...”

“Why the forest, babe?”

“To make my head shut up.” Catching Clarke’s inquiring look, she added, “I just need to get into nature, Clarke. It does people good. I can show you a study—"

“That’s okay, Lex, I believe you."

"You generally do; it's really nice."

"Do you have a forest in particular, or..."

"I do," Lexa spoke up. "One that Anya showed me... When I was getting sober, we used to take Titus and her dog there, just to be in the woods and walk them off leash, away from all the other people..."

Clarke stretched, and checked her phone. The day had been evading her; it was already three in the afternoon and she had little to show for the day. Except for the sex... _the sex_. A little shiver coursed through her as her mind conjured images of Lexa trembling on top of her, beside her. How she kept up with Lexa sometimes, she wasn't really sure, and she supposed that was why she felt so sleepy. Rising, she went to the cabinet for a mug into which she could pour a cup of coffee, then thought better of it, and went for a travel mug. 

"How far is it from here? Wanna go now?"

This perked Lexa. She found Clarke's eyes, looking surprised. 

"You would do that? For me?"

"Yeah, silly... Wait? How far away is this forest of yours?"

Lexa let the Clarke regret her decision, building the anticipation until she had found the correct answer on her phone. 

"Thirty-three minutes; fifteen kilometres with medium traffic... if we left now. Which we should, if we want to go, because the sun sets at... twenty-oh-seven..."

Clarke smiled as she continued to pour some coffee into a mug for herself, helping herself to a large scoop of sugar and cream. 

"Want some coffee?"

"I drink tea, now, Clarke... I brought my tactical mug."


	11. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, Lexa smokes in this chapter... this is actually a chapter that SHOULD be chapter 11, and I will be moving it there after subscribers have had a chance to read it.

"Oh, look! They must be filming something," Clarke commented as they pulled up to the parking lot of the remote park. It took her several moments of her own excitement to realize that in the passenger seat, Lexa was getting excited in a different way. Her face was slack.   
  


“Why are they here, Clarke?” She inquired softly; dangerously.

"I... Uh, I guess a location scout found it?"

"I just want to know... why they picked  _my_ forest,” Lexa continued after a few moments in silence, her voice rising a bit. 

“I dunno, they thought it was pretty, and secluded?” Clarke was frowning a bit as she took in Lexa’s reaction. The brunette seemed agitated as her gaze flicked from the vehicles, to the trailers, to the set sign, and back to the vehicles. Her jaw worked, as she withdrew her spiky ring from the pocket of her jeans, working it over her finger. 

“I want to see their faces,” Lexa declared after a stony silence.

“Nope. No you don’t,” Clarke cut her off. She knew where this was going, now. This was becoming a security guard thing. A  territory thing. Unnecessarily. “Lexa, compose yourself.”

“Compose,” Lexa agreed reluctantly, closing her eyes, fidgeting with the ring. “ _Compose,_ ” she murmured in a quieter voice. “ _Compose… compose…_ ”

“Five things you can see?” Clarke suggested. Lexa shook her head vigorously now. 

“Not safe right here,” she explained, without opening her eyes. 

“Okay.”

Lexa rubbed at the spiky ring, planting her feet on the floor of the passenger side and pushing her butt back in the seat. “ _Compose… compose… compose…_ ” 

Clarke waited while she did her thing. Lexa descended into silence, breathing more deeply. After a minute or two, her eyes popped open. She had reset herself. 

“There’s another trail I know,” Lexa suggested calmly. “I’d love to see them try and get all their film equipment up where we’re going,” she added, not without a touch of smugness. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed, relieved. 

“Let’s go.” They could talk about it later. 

They exited the car and popped the trunk, and Lexa retrieved her sling pack. As with all other outfitting gear she owned, it was simply black, and probably purchased from a surplus store or a tactical gear store.  “A cellphone, reception and a water bottle, Clarke, all you need to go on a spirit walk.”

Seemingly knowing where they were going, Lexa led them to the mouth of a small deer trail off the entrance to the main trail. Trepidation crept up on Clarke. Perhaps it was from her earlier dream. 

"Are you sure this is a real trail?" Clarke wanted to know. Lexa halted, turning around to eye the blonde with a small smile. 

"You see it too?"

"No, seriously, Lex. No existential jokes."

"It's real, believe me. Anya showed me." Lexa assured her. "Ready?"

"Yeah..."

Lexa bent a young, overhanging maple branch carefully back, holding it aside for Clarke. Beyond it's mouth, the trail looked less narrow. Humans had definitely used it; it was simply a path less taken. This made Clarke feel a little better. Brushing her arm reassuringly, Lexa turned to forge the path ahead. 

“I’m used to doing this with Titus, but I must re-learn to walk without him...  We need to walk here like we own this place,” Lexa explained. “But we don’t, actually. Nobody really does... Except for maybe the aboriginal people... No, even they know they don’t own the forest; they simply found it first..." 

Stooping, Lexa picked a stick off the ground, testing the feel, rolling it in her fingers. It was pencil-like in length and diameter, and thin enough to twirl. Satisfied, she nodded to Clarke. 

“Pick up a stick or a rock,” she encouraged. “To have something in your hand...”

Dubiously, and feeling marginally silly, Clarke scoured the ground for a stick she liked. She saw several that looked suitable, and similar to Lexa's but she was a little wary of getting her hands dirty. Lexa averted her gaze, perhaps to put her more at ease, but she offered no help or suggestions. At last, Clarke decided on a thinner stick that had all the bark stripped off it, making it slim and smooth, like the handle of a paintbrush. A little self-consciously, she clutched the stick. Lexa seemed not to mind. She simply turned and proceeded up the trail.

“You don’t have to be ashamed, Clarke,” Lexa spoke as she continued up the trail fidgeting idly with her stick. “We’re Homo sapiens. Sapient apes. We like sticks and rocks. People get so self-conscious about it...”

It was a damp afternoon, and summer rains had sprinkled the forest at one point. Clarke shivered at the cool tickle of the dewy foliage as it brushed her arms, legs and ankles. The water seemed to make the green hues of the foliage all the more vivid, and the artist caught herself slipping into silent admiration of the beauty of it all as Lexa picked the path ahead of her weaving under branches and ducking about bushes. Every so often she would pause to tuck away a fern or vine away where, leaves pregnant with droplets of rain, it had sagged across the path. 

"People walked here decades, centuries before us, Clarke, and they saw the same things, have you ever thought of it that way? That boulder.... probably that tree. That deer path.... perceived again and again by hundreds of people and animals..."

Clarke had the strange sensation of feeling high, though she was completely sober. A little ruefully, Clarke wished she had brought her Nikon, to perhaps take some reference photos. Settling for her phone, she pulled it from her pocket to capture a small forest flower here, or a sunlit leaf there. Each time she stopped, Lexa would pause patiently, nodding as though she found Clarke's appreciation of her forest very appropriate.  
  


“Holly, hemlock, Indian plum... sumac... wild raspberry...” Lexa would point out as they walked. 

“Do you know all of the plants in this forest?” Clarke asked curiously. Ahead of her, Lexa gave a wordless nod. Some unseen bird or animal off and to their left made a shrill series of calls. 

"If I don't, I take a photo and look it up when I get home... Owl."

"I'll what, Lex?" Clarke inquired absently, her sights set on some sun crowning a mossy stump in a green-gold blaze. She captured the image in preview on her phone. 

"Owl."

Confusedly, Clarke turned to question Lexa, who stood, her arm outstretched, pointing up overhead of them. It took her some time to locate the creature, sat still in a hollow between a branch and a tree trunk, glaring haughtily down at them. 

"Oh my god, how'd you see--"

"Owl pellets at the base of the tree, a squirrel giving a warning call..."

"Wow." Wild horses couldn't have dragged Clarke away. She was afraid to move, lest she startle the bird of prey from its perch and lose it. 

"You can move, Clarke, you won't scare it," Lexa assured her. 

"How do you know?"

"I just know that owls don't give a fuck. That's why the squirrel can't get it to leave..."

Tentatively, Clarke moved, photographing the owl from a few angles. It couldn't have been more than twenty feet away from them. True to Lexa's word, however, the owl seemed not to care about the presence of the two of them. Satisfied at last, Clarke tucked her phone into her pocket. 

"I can't wait to get back to my art desk," She confessed. 

"I love that you see what I see in this forest, Clarke," Lexa responded with a shy smile. "That would make a good walking stick..." She nodded to a long stick resting in a patch of brush. "Anyways..." She turned and proceeded again down the path, gracefully leaning to duck another tree branch. "When I came here with Titus, I would pray and meditate to keep the bears away... Now, I have you..."

"Did you bring any water?" Clarke asked hopefully as they hiked up a small hill gnarled with roots and rocks. 

"I brought a Life Straw, and an empty water bottle, which is all we need to survive," Lexa returned quickly. Clarke gaped behind her. Lexa seemed to sense this. "Just kidding. I brought some for you, this time... But we still need to find the water..."

"First rule of survival, I guess," Clarke recalled. 

"First rule of survival. Do you hear it now?"

Clarke had to pause and strain her ears. Lexa stood silent so she could appreciate the faint rush of water over rocks, somewhere up ahead. They continued. 

"I would know how we could survive well, if we were to be lost," Lexa mused for Clarke. "Anya says to learn from the dogs... But I know what they know about surviving in the woods. Anya showed me, when we would hike here with Titus and Echo..."

"Echo is her dog?" Clarke guessed. Lexa nodded. 

"A German Shepherd... Here, Clarke..." Now, the sound of the stream was distinct. Clarke could see that where the brush opened in on a stream spilling over a short waterfall made from a log. Lexa was in the water with her hiking sandals, and picking her way up to the spot where the water pooled before pouring over the log. Dropping her stick, she went to stand in the center of the pool, swishing her feet through the frigid meltwater.

"If you are afraid to get your shoes wet, you can stay there,” Lexa reasoned. “But I chose this spot because it is hard to get to... so others will not bother it...”

"That's okay," Clarke declined. She would rather watch, fascinated. She half had a mind to snap some pictures of Lexa, but she sensed it would not be appreciated. Instead she settled for drinking in the vision, to later draw it from memory. 

Pond skaters scooted across the surface of the water, creating miniature ripples where they idled. Several moths walked along the damp rocks, seeking out the moisture with wings erect. 

“Cold water. Grounds you,” Lexa instructed over the burble of the stream. She closed her eyes as she did when she was listening deeply, letting the lazy trickle of the water fill her ears. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a cigarette. Clarke assumed it could only be part of the ritual.

"Plant-based medicine...," Lexa spoke. "Used for centuries... Only in the last few, they didn’t call it 'cancer sticks' they called it a peace pipe..." Nodding, she lit up, inhaling deeply and expelling the first bluish plume into the late summer air. With each drag, Lexa would mutter something under her breath, a prayer or a meditation, Clarke supposed. She shifted from foot to foot gently as the icy coursed over her feet. Clarke saw Lexa’s lips form the word compose, and the words be still, and the words my spirit. The ashes would drop into the water and disperse like so many gray and white snowflakes.

After the passage of some moments, Lexa opened her eyes, taking the last few inhalations. When only the stub of the tobacco remained, she bent to put it out in the water. Standing again, Lexa field-stripped her cigarette into tiny bits, casting the tobacco and fiber and bits of paper here and there. 

“Tobacco, wood fiber pulp, carbon...” All into the water, as though she were casting out an offering to some great spirit of the forest. She stood a moment, stalk-still, dreamily watching the stream carry the miniscule bits of fluff and paper away. With a final nod, she cleared her throat, glancing to Clarke and making her way back to the bank of the stream. Lexa seemed to walk from the water with a new sense of purpose, and a little more upright.

“This space is really sacred to you,” Clarke observed. Lexa picked up a stick and slashed at some ferns.

“Yes. It’s different without Titus,” she added, a bit mournfully. “But still sacred.” Pausing, she plucked a large, ripe blackberry from an overhanging vine and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. Craning her head, she teased another good-looking one from the vine, offering it to Clarke. 

"Does that make pitbulls your spirit animal?” Clarke asked as she accepted the blackberry. It was sweet and ripe, with a subtle tang.    


"...One of them," Lexa decided. "As well as bears, birds, the lone wolf..."

"You don't have to be alone," Clarke reminded gently. 

"Exactly. I know! I could show you a study," Lexa cleared her throat in quiet excitement, "Lone wolves are welcome in the territory of all other wolves. That indicates to us that they can use their manners, if you will, with other wolves, in order to be allowed in the territory of every pack in the area, and to get their leftover food..."

"Well, you can be my spirit animal, then," Clarke chuckled as Lexa slipped a hand in hers, finding the way back to the deer trail for them. She stopped to help Clarke over some roots.

“I’ll be your spirit animal... Spirit human,” she corrected herself, “I promise not to conduct myself like a total animal around you, Clarke...”

“Except in bed,” Clarke couldn’t resist.

“Except in bed.” Lexa seemed satisfied with this idea.

Clarke was giggling, but she lingered, a thought entering her head right at the moment before they were to leave.

"I want to try it," the blonde voiced. 

"Try what exactly?" Lexa was curious. 

"What you do, Lex... being... spiritual. In the forest. In the stream..."

Lexa made a humming sound, looking down to Clarke's shoes. 

"You'll have to take those off," She pointed out, "That's why I told you to bring waterproof sandals..."

"I know, Lex, I'll just take my shoes and socks off," the artist insisted, already balancing on Lexa as she removed the shoe and sock from one foot, and then the other. Lexa shrugged. 

"If it works for you... Come." Lexa led them back to the stream. Clarke shrieked a little as the cold water hit her toes. 

"Lexa, this is freezing!" 

"Shh. And I know." 

Over the slippery rocks, Lexa guided Clarke, allowing the blonde to clutch her for stability. They made their way up over the log and into the pool. When they came to Lexa's spot, the brunette took both of Clarke's hands. 

"What do you pray? What do you say?" Clarke wanted to know, suddenly unsure. Lexa lifted a shoulder, offering a small smile. 

"Whatever comes to mind, really... It's the chanting, Clarke, the repetition; the mantras. It simply calms one down. Do you know the St Francis prayer?"

"The what, now?"

"Catholic school," Lexa explained. "But I'm not religious like that anymore..." Her thumb idly brushed Clarke's hand. "I'll say it for us," she decided, "And you'll get why I like it." She licked her lips, rocking idly on her feet. Clarke closed her eyes grinning as Lexa spoke the words for them. Lexa trailed off at the last verse. After a few moments, the blue eyes opened and sought the greens. 

"Aren't we supposed to say 'Amen'?" Clarke wanted to know. This earned her one of Lexa's small, quizzical smiles. 

"I don't hang up..."

"Don't... Hang up?"

"The phone, Clarke. My spirit speaks to me now and then, when I'm alone, or to inspire me..."

"To do what?" The blonde was curious. Lexa rolled her lips thoughtfully, turning to lead Clarke from the water again. 

"To be me... And, when I die--"

"Can we not talk about your death, Lexa?" Clarke reminded her girlfriend as she clutched Lexa for support, picking her way again over the wet stones. 

"Sorry," Lexa agreed. "I like to ponder my existence... especially out here..." Clarke smiled to herself at this. She hadn't known at the start what dating a philosopher entailed. 

"Well, we can ponder that we exist here together, right now, in this forest," the artist ventured. 

"That we can." Lexa liked this idea. To show, she squeezed Clarke's hand, and ducked over to land a kiss on her cheek as they exited the water and started back down the path. "I am me and you are... you, and I love you," she decided.


	12. Masking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless insert: My mask hacks.

When Clarke came out of the elevator on her lunch break, Lexa was hunched over the desk, a light frown marring her features as she worked at something with a pair of scissors. The exasperation seemed to roll off her in waves. 

“What are you doing?” Clarke wanted to know as she crossed the lobby. 

“Customizing... modding it,” Lexa grumbled, snipping at something. As Clarke drew nearer, she saw it was a black fabric face mask. “I’m catching hell for not wearing this thing,” Lexa mumbled in addition. “Part of uniform. Eight hours a day...”

Clarke wanted to touch Lexa’s shoulder sympathetically, but she chose to maintain professional distance at the other side of the desk. 

“They do kind of suck,” the blonde admitted. Her own was one she had purchased in a fun floral pattern, for some levity. 

"Masks make me feel all suffocated and worn out. So much effort; I can't breathe," Lexa confessed, slipping a blade below a ply and carefully snipping it free, pushing the chair back to discard it in the trash can. There was another ply below the first. Clarke watched as the brunette snipped a hole, then cut around the edges, removing the second ply of the facemask. "I can't work like this, Clarke," she complained quietly. Freeing the second patch of fabric, she threw it in the trash can as well. 

"I'm sorry you have to," Clarke responded. She knew it must be hard. Lexa lofted a shoulder. 

"Level playing field," she proposed optimistically. "Everyone has to read facial expressions from context now, not just me..."

“Are you sure it will still be safe?”

Lexa lifted a shoulder. “As safe as a cheap medical mask, which, by the way, doesn’t protect me from getting infected; it just reduces my chances of spreading if I happen to be infected... We are in a low risk zone... on average, thirty-four new cases daily...” Leaning back, she pulled open a drawer, producing it from a tiny vial. 

"What's that?" Clarke was curious. 

"The most concentrated poison known to man..."

"No really, Lex."

"Peppermint essential oil. To wake me up." Uncapping the thumbnail-sized bottle, Lexa shook a drop into the center of her mask. Satisfied, she replaced the mask, hooking the loops over her ears. Clarke had to give it to her, she looked slightly more intimidating with the facial covering. "Yours next?" She offered, taking up the scissors again. 

"Just oils, no scissors." 


	13. Stuffy

It was a beautiful, clear but hot August day. When Clarke next passed the front desk to get Lexa for their lunch date, the woman looked despondent. Lexa slouched in the chair, her eyes tiredly tracking Clarke's movement toward her on the CCTV. Above her mask, a feverish flush could be seen in her cheeks. She rolled her tactical pen in one hand, the other resting on her black flask of ice water as the sun beat down on her black polyester blazer. 

"Hello, Clarke," she murmured absently, her eyes lifting over the screen at last to regard Clarke. 

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Clarke could only ask concernedly. She was still not entirely used to seeing Lexa like this.

"Tired. I can't breathe," Lexa admitted, a slight frown creasing her forehead as her eyes wandered back to the camera. 

"Let's get you out of here," Clarke decided. Looking a little relieved, Lexa reached for the phone, calling Indra up to the desk. She was standing, in her shirtsleeves and out of her tactical belt as soon as Indra came striding into the lobby. 

"I'm going through caffeine withdrawals, as well, Clarke," Lexa realized. "Hence the headache, I suppose..."

"Can I touch your shoulder?" 

"We shouldn't here; it's not professional," Lexa decided, going to palm her face. She stopped herself short. "Don't touch your face," she told herself, leaning over the desk to pump a bit of hand sanitizer into her hand. She shared it with Clarke.

"Is there anything you need," Clarke asked in her natural gentleness. 

"To hear the sound of your voice," Lexa confessed. "Can we go outside so I can hold your hand?"

"Of course," Clarke responded softly, though she was a little taken aback. The vulnerability while Lexa was still in most of her uniform was what jarred her, she supposed. 

"Good. Let's go," Lexa decided, hesitating to retrieve her aviators from the desk drawer. Indra took her seat at the concierge desk, Clarke shouldered her purse a little higher and the two headed out the front door, donning their sunglasses. As soon as they crossed the property line onto the sidewalk, Lexa's hand found Clarke's, while the other found her mask, removing it and stuffing it into her pocket. Lexa shuffled a bit to keep pace with Clarke in her heels. Though both women had long legs, Lexa could easily wind up dragging Clarke if she slipped into her typical patrolling gait. 

"Tell me about your day," Lexa wanted to hear, almost immediately. 

"Hm? Oh... Nothing interesting, I guess. Desmond CCed me on an email from Jaha, and Jaha wants even _more_ promo images of the supporting characters, so that will be enough to keep me busy, for a long time... And Octavia has gone nutso on a health kick since she signed up for the gym downstairs. She keeps trying to preach all this health stuff to me, and I know she's just excited about bettering herself, but sometimes, she goes really overboard. Like, today she kept trying to make me taste her kale juice-- which tastes like shit, by the way..."

"Was it red kale, green kale or black kale?"

"Green kale."

"Ew."

"Right?!"

"I can't have cruciferous vegetables in large amounts, like that..."

"Crucifixion what? Anyways. I need figure out how to get her to lay off, a little."

"I'm sure you'll do so, Clarke. Figuring out things is what you love to do."

"Really?" Clarke slowed to glance over to her girlfriend. Lexa exchanged the look through her aviators, nodding before turning her gaze back to where they were going. "I guess, I guess I sort of do," Clarke decided. "I guess that's why I love you, actually... Anyways, how was your morning? Other than overheating and the mask thing and all that?"

"I'm glad I'm not menstruating, that's all," Lexa confessed. That would have taken the morning to entirely new levels of difficulty. 

"You kept yourself sane on patrols?"

“I prayed and meditated... Well, one funny thing happened,” Lexa recalled. 

“Hm?”

Lexa shrugged self-consciously. Sometimes, her sense of humor and her interests in general evaded others. 

“I saw a tagger, white, male, seventeen years of age, wearing a red hooded sweatshirt... beginning to draw an anarchy sign on the wall...”

"The little rebel..."

“I only _asked_ him if I could ask him not to... that is something I learned how to do, early on, Clarke.”

“And?”

“He said sorry, and mumbled something politely, and left...”

“... A polite teenage anarchist...”

“Yes, a good kid, actually. It’s a shame not everyone sees that in _‘kids these days’_...”

“I guess— Ooh,” Clarke's eyes had lit upon an adorable stuffed pig in a gift-shop window, though it was the colorful box of pencil-crayons next to it that first drew her attention. She stopped short to admire. Lexa halted soon after her, so as not to drag the blonde flying. 

"Lexa, isn't it adorable," Clarke had to ask. Lexa regarded the pig in meditative silence, trying to spy what Clarke saw in the domestic animal. 

"Pigs eat their young," Lexa mused. "That's the implication made by commoners toward the Tudors, whose house sigil was a boar..."

"Ew, Lexa."

"Sorry. Boars are also very fierce when cornered, which is what the Tudors meant to convey, I suppose..."

"Lexa, just look at it's cuteness, not the other stuff!"

"I suppose they're cute," Lexa admitted. "I also think that it's because they're extremely similar to humans in intelligence and genetic code..."

This earned her a playful smack on the shoulder.

"I can't help what I'm doing," Lexa maintained, cringing, a little dramatically. She straightened. "Clarke, do you love pigs?"

"Yes, Lexa, I love pigs."

 _Is that why you chose Finn? Inappropriate._ Lexa paused to appreciate the blonde, as she gazed wistfully at the stuffed toy. _Buy time._

"Would you like to go inside?" Lexa proposed. 

"Do we have time?" Clarke wanted to know. Lexa let go of Clarke's hand to pull her phone from her pocket. 

"It's twelve fourteen, so, yes."

This brightened Clarke. Without a further word, she was ducking into the shop. Lexa followed suit. 

"Do you still like stuffed toys," Lexa wanted to know as they went around behind the front window, where a more extensive display of stuffed animals was arranged. 

"A little," Clarke conceded, casting a shy smile in Lexa's direction. Lexa was aware that Clarke still kept her favorite stuffed toys from her childhood in her bedroom; a shabby-looking rabbit named Molly. 

"I did too when I was young," Lexa recalled. "Moreso than dolls..."

"You still have any?"

 _I drank and threw them into a bonfire when my parents disowned me._ _Oversharing._

"No... the clutter..."

"Of course, the clutter," Clarke chuckled.

"They serve no purpose..."

"Uh, yes, the hell they do, Lexa!" Clarke chided her.

"Comfort, I suppose?" Lexa questioned, turning her gaze toward the animals. _Harlow's baby rhesus monkeys chose the soft mother dummy over the wire mother dummy._ The pigs came in three different sizes. "Would you like one?" 

"Noooo," Clarke trailed off. _This was not a 'No.' no; this was a 'yes' no._

"Which size, Clarke?"

"No, Lex, I don't want you to sp--"

"Spend my money on it? Why shouldn't I? You like it. I love you."

"Well, yeah, but I don't know where I'd put it--"

"In your car? And drive home with it?"

"Well--"

"Clarke. Just let me. I would like to." Lexa tried, softening her demeanor in gentle encouragement. 

"Okay," Clarke agreed, swiftly choosing the medium-sized pig they had seen in the window. Lexa could only smile as she watched. 

"Hey, shut up, Heart-eyes," Clarke admonished her playfully. 

"You're allowed to think I'm cute, but I'm not allowed to think you're cute?"

"Oh come on--"

"Let's pay for this thing, before our break is over," Lexa proposed, going to the counter. The supervising shopkeeper smiled from behind the plexiglass as he rang the item in. Lexa knew he would, because posted in the bottom corner of the shopfront window, there was a sticker with the symbol of a pride flag. She tapped her card as the pig was carefully wrapped and stowed into a gift bag. It was an exorbitant price, for an assembly of fake fur and cotton batting, but Lexa supposed that was well past the point by now. Her thoughts were interrupted by the kiss on the cheek she had earned. 

"Thank you, Lexa," Clarke whispered into her ear, and she had to slide her hand back into Clarke's, and the other to finger her keychain in her pocket, to keep from overstimulating. 

"I'm glad you found something you like, that I could buy for you," she said finally, as they exited the shop. 

"Me too, Lex," Clarke agreed, squeezing her hand as the shopping bag swung gently in the other. They walked back to Trikru 3, descending into silence for a bit, simply enjoying. 

"If I gave you the oils I wear," Lexa theorized at last, "The ones that smell like the forest... You could put a drop on the pig. Then it would smell like me, and comfort you, the way I smell your scent on my pillow, and it comforts me..." She glanced to gauge Clarke's reaction. The artist was breaking into a grin. 

"You like the smell of me on your pillow?" She, of course, wanted to know.

"It... helps me sleep soundly."

"Aww, Lex! That's really romantic..."

"Classical conditioning. Positive association."

"That's really science-y," Clarke added, with a mildly puzzled look. 

"Can it be both?"

"Hey, why not, I guess?!"

"So, I'll give you the oil?"

"Yes, please."


	14. ...But You’ll Survive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa makes a huge change for Clarke.

Lexa waited until Clarke was over to unbox her new acquisition; a vape pen packaged in a box that looked meant to contain an iPhone. Sitting them down at the kitchen table, she turned the box this way and that, looking for the best way to open it without damaging the precious packaging.

"What is it?" Clarke wanted to know. 

Lexa had a penchant for gadgets intended to simplify life. She had the Echo Dot, _I changed its voice to Morgan Freeman because I already walk around my house muttering to myself, Clarke, and besides, I'd never hear the end of the robot jokes at work._ She had a Roomba that sat largely unemployed in the corner of her kitchen, _It doesn't do as good a job as me, Clarke, and I don't run out of a charge until the job is done._ Occasionally, Lexa liked to hypothesize about artificial intelligence, and for these conversations, Clarke would simply smile and draw in her sketchbook, either cross-legged on the couch, or at Lexa's writing desk. The conclusion was always the same: If Asimov's laws of robotics were true, humans would start a war on androids for being too insufferably perfect. 

"A vape pen," Lexa explained, tearing the cellophane with a pair of scissors and removing it. "Miller and I have made a pact..."

"Does this mean you're quitting smoking?"

"I'm heavily considering it, Clarke, as the pros outweigh the cons, I made a list--"

The unboxing was interrupted when Clarke leapt from her seat, plopping herself into Lexa's lap for a sound kiss. 

"The scissors... safety--" Lexa mumbled between kisses. Clarke heard them clatter to the table behind her as Lexa kissed her more deeply, a hand coming up to tousle her curls gently. Breaking away at last, Lexa cleared her throat.

"I always thought I'd rather die than live with my full sense of smell, but since I met you..."

"You won't smell like an ashtray anymore!"

"Hey, now, I was down to five a day," Lexa pointed out, a bit defensively. Clarke twisted in her lap as Lexa took the top off the box, fishing out the instructions and placing them and discarding them to the side, because _My own direction suffices, most of the time, Clarke._

Curiously, Clarke fished some pods out of the box, looking for Lexa's nod before popping one out of the blister pack. 

"It goes in here this way, I suppose," Lexa mused, inserting the cartridge, about to take an experimental huff. She stopped herself. "State-dependent learning. Clarke, could you remove yourself from my lap?"

"State— Why?"

"I'll explain outside. I cannot vape indoors, Clarke, or it would become an unconscious habit... I have to treat it like a cigarette... To follow social convention... And common courtesy..." Lexa had rambled herself all the way out to the patio. Once both feet were outside, she examined the device one last time before shrugging and taking a drag. She blew it out, frowning. 

"Annnd?" Clarke wanted to know.

"It's feel is all wrong. And the taste is not right," Lexa complained, albiet quietly. She took another drag, pacing a bit, trying to forget about her long-time friend and become acquainted with a new one. 

"But you'll survive, right?" The blonde called from the living room with a wink. She had used one of Lexa's magic words. A long silence followed. Lexa took another puff, considering hard, glaring off the balcony to the street below. At last, she turned back to Clarke, pursing her lips, looking her dead in the eye. 

"I'll survive," the older woman decided slowly. 

"Can you smile when you say that?" Clarke wanted to know. Perhaps she was pushing her luck, but that was always what seemed to inspire Lexa to rise to a challenge. 

"Not really," Lexa responded in all honesty. 

"That's fair, babe," Clarke giggled.


	15. Lost and Found

It was 1200 hours and Lexa was in a mood. These were common lately. It was the kind of mood that would usually call for a coffee and a cigarette, but she had only her vape pen and an herbal tea. _Herbal._ Even the word left a bad taste in her mouth. Realistically she knew it was peppermint and fennel. Irately, she strode to the elevator hall and pressed the call button. She needed to see Clarke; to hear her voice and hold her hand. Things could only go up from here, like her ascending elevator. _Even if there’s no point in having a chin wag, it’s always nice hearing the voice of someone you like._ A character in her Pokémon Shield said that to her.

When a cab opened, Lexa briskly stepped inside, punching the sixth floor. The elevator began to climb up, landing on the third floor. The doors slid open and stayed open. Lexa shot a glance up to the camera in the corner, brandishing her middle finger. Miller was fucking with her, taking control over her elevator from the elevator management system, which she tolerated only because she enjoyed retaliating. The doors slid shut again and the elevator shot up to the sixth floor. 

Padding into the lobby, her beloved and well-worn dress shoes making only a whisper, Lexa plunked wordlessly into a seat, pulling out her phone. 

“Good afternoon, Lexa,” Niylah greeted her bravely, though she seemed to shrink behind her computer screen. _Like thieves did, when they walked past a camera in the corridor._

“Good afternoon, Niylah,” Lexa returned curtly, without looking up from her news app. She had neither time nor motive to care that the woman seemed intimidated by her. Not without her coffee and cigarette, and not when she was with them, either. Lexa couldn’t tell outright, but she knew how to read certain signs and she had her suspicions: Niylah was either lesbian, bisexual, or pansexual, or any of the -romantics, and Niylah was attracted to her girlfriend. 

Lexa could understand. It was something she herself would be intimidated by occasionally. Clarke was exquisite: In appearance, in voice, in smell, in feel, in personality... in taste. The brunette couldn’t help but occasionally feel as though she were guarding something extremely precious. More precious than confidential files; more precious than the Maseratis on the bottom, most secret and secure part of the parkade. Clarke was a gem. The word suited her in every sense. Lexa would literally fight for her; she had proven that much to herself shortly after meeting her. 

She could sicken herself with jealousy and possessiveness, as she did over Costia... _Stop. Compose._ And the thought ended there. In Milwaukee, a lawyer was being disbarred for soliciting sex from a client. Lexa’s hand went to finger her tactical pen in her pants pocket. Her reading was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Clarke’s favorite pumps on the laminate floor behind reception. 

“Lex? I lost it!”

“Lost what?” Lexa inquired calmly, still perusing the article. It would be neither the first time nor the last time Clarke misplaced something small, and in this they were perfectly alike. Lexa’s salvation was the tactical belt and many pockets in her uniform where she could store her essentials, even strap them to herself if necessary.

“No, Lex, this is serious. Look,” Clarke implored, commanding her girlfriend’s attention. “My earring, this is the pair my mom gave me for my birthday!”

Lexa glanced up. Clarke did sound upset. She looked upset, even in her facemask. She was clutching her earlobe and then frantically whirling around, combing through her hair, checking her shoulder. Niylah was up in a flash, scouring the floor and helping Clarke look. Lexa stayed in her seat. The earring was gone. She just wanted to assess. That, security had taught her. 

“Let me check my lost and found drawer,” Niylah offered reassuringly to Clarke, even though Lexa knew she would have remembered if any earrings had been turned in that morning. “Oh, Clarke, I’m so sorry this happened to you, you were telling me you love that pair...”

_Pandering. Enough._ Lexa was out of her chair. 

“Clarke, take your other one out and put it on the desk...” Lexa was withdrawing her work phone. Distraught, Clarke removed the jewelry and placed it on the table.

“You’ll tell security to look for it?” Clarke wanted to know; she needed to hear it. 

“I’ll make a lost and found report and I’ll tell the cleaners to look for it. They’re more likely to find it,” Lexa decided, snapping a picture. She sought out Clarke’s eye contact. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Clarke agreed, biting her lip unsurely. Lexa wished she could hug and kiss all the unsureness away right then and there. Clarke always said the hugs Lexa gave fixed anything, but she had to be professional inside the building. 

“Let’s go for lunch, and let me worry about it for a bit,” Lexa elected, all her surliness from earlier long forgotten already. With a determined nod, Clarke made for the lobby, pressing the call button. Lexa trailed behind her, still on her work phone, tapping through the drop-down list to file a lost and found report. 

  
“You give her the creeps, by the way, did you try saying something nice to her?” Clarke questioned her as soon as the elevator doors shut, tucking the remaining safely into her purse. 

“Good, and no.” Lexa replied, punching a description of the item into her phone.

“What?! Why?”

“Well, A, because it’s my job to scare people, and B, because she looks at you for too long. She’s attracted to you.” Lexa pocketed the phone, watching Clarke curiously in the mirror.

“Lexa, what?!” The blush rising in Clarke’s cheeks did the rest of the talking.

“Did I mumble again? She’s attracted to you...”

“No, you were speaking fine, Lex, I just—“

“You don’t agree?”

“Well, no, I think she’s a very sweet, empathetic person and that you’re maybe misinterpreting her kindness towards me...”

“I saw her bonding with you over the trauma of losing your earring.” Lexa persisted. 

“Okay, Freud.”

“She probably wasn’t breastfed when she was young...”

This earned her a smack on the shoulder. Lexa didn’t mind. 

“Lexa! Inappropriate...”

Sometimes it cheered Clarke up when she said inappropriate things. 

“Well, neither was I! And I think my oral fixation—“

The elevator door opened in onto the lobby. Clarke could hear the words Lexa spoke in her head; _shut up, Lexa._

Lexa cleared her throat as they stepped out of the elevator, heading for the doors. “All I was saying is—“

“I should stare her down to assert my dominance?” Clarke had to hide her grin.

“I’d like that, yes.” Lexa seemed not to notice her girlfriend’s smirk, or, if she did, she was satisfied with how her case had been made. 


	16. A Horse Named Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at it after a long time. I apologize for the absence. I've had a rough go. Thanks for faithfully reading and commenting, everyone. Hopefully this post is up to scratch and my creativity is coming back.

It wasn't until the newer model black jeep pulled into Clarke's driveway that Clarke slowly began to understand Lexa's insistence that she would arrive at the house on Saturday, at 10:30 am, refusing to be driven there in Clarke's Yaris. The blonde got it when Lexa stepped out, swinging the driver's door shut, her gaze alight and trained on Clarke, a small smile gracing her lips. Clarke hurried down the steps while Abby stood to observe from the veranda, sipping her tea. 

"Lexa... Is this yours?" Clarke burst. Lexa responded with a shy nod toward the vehicle, glowing a bit. 

"2015."

"Oh my god... Lexa!"

"Do you like it?" Lexa wanted to know. 

"I do, it's just... Lexa, you never told me you were shopping for a car!"

Lexa lifted a shoulder, dropping it. 

"I wasn't... Wasn't really, until recently. But the time was right. And perhaps it was a little on impulse. I put most of my savings on the down payment."

Clarke shut her mouth. 

"How much?"

"Twenty-thousand with a down payment of six thousand over five years, with a prime interest rate of--."

"That's a long time..."

"It's a big purchase."

"Yeah... You can drive?! I can't believe I never asked that," Clarke confessed. 

"I have my full license," Lexa assured her. "It's just... Been a while. Still getting used to it."

"How long?"

Lexa pursed her lips, made taciturn. "Costia era."

"Oh," Clarke responded. Lexa took the courtesy of not discussing exes very seriously. "So are you going to take me for a spin in this thing?"

Lexa nodded appreciatively to the Jeep. "It's the safest. Safest in its class for 2015," she proclaimed to Clarke. ''Look at it." 

"Well, it's a Jeep," Clarke giggled, "That kind of comes with the package."

"And, it's tactical," Lexa added, deliberately failing to mention the days of practice that she had accrued driving first around grocery store parking lots, then cautiously tracing the route to and from work, before drives to Roots Foods, and finally short drives on the highway. Rounding the car, she opened the passenger door for Clarke, holding her breath. With a wide grin, Clarke climbed into the seat, allowing Lexa to close the door for her. 

"Let's start this thing up," Clarke urged as Lexa climbed into the driver's seat, strapping her seatbelt and checking the mirrors. She seemed oddly hesitant about what she was about to do. "Lexa?"

"Hm?"

"What?"

Lexa stalled a moment, her gaze trained ahead of her before giving her head a small shake. "Nothing," she returned dismissively. 

"So?"

"Right," Lexa agreed before turning the ignition and carefully reversing the car out of the driveway. 

* * *

_“Work was good. Boring.” Lexa pulled away from the cafe as Costia buckled her seatbelt, tossing her work bag into the back seats of the Civic. That was a small lie. But she made sure work was always uneventful and boring when she spoke to Costia about it, to spare Costia and worries for her safety. “How was your day?”_

_“Oh man,” Costia started in. “The mid-morning people are really… something else. From nine to noon, it’s like the Karen Brigade…” The purple-haired woman shivered dramatically. “They’ve gotten rid of their kids and they are just ready to be pissed.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah. So, anyways, this lady comes back to us with her latte, losing her fucking shit…”_

_“That’ll Costia,” Lexa murmured, smirking the smallest smirk. This earned her a swat on the shoulder. “Ow!”_

_“That didn’t hurt, you big drama queen,” Costia told her, grinning._

_ “Perhaps not, but the ‘ow’ was  reflexive ,” Lexa explained, her eyes still glinting with mirth. “So, what did you do?” _

_"Ducked and covered and gave her a new one. And you know what she does? Goes into the tip jar and takes her fucking tip back! Anyways, how was your counseling?" Costia inquired, rolling down the window to feel the air on her fingers._

_“Insightful. I’m glad we do our sessions over the phone,” Lexa shrugged as she flipped on the blinker, making a right turn._

_“Did you talk about your neighbour?” Costia wanted to know._

_“No.”_

_“Are you going to do that next session?” Costia wanted to know now._

_“No.”_

_“Well—“_

_“Can we not?” Lexa’s whole carriage tightened steadily as the conversation carried._

_“Well, I just think—“_

_“Frank understands. He says we have to go slowly.” Lexa’s fingernails were digging into the inside of her palm now. Twisting, she snatched her pack of cigarettes, shaking one out with one hand, lighting it and taking a hard drag._

_“Yeah, but—“_

_Exhaling slowly, Lexa formulated her response as cautiously and firmly as she could. “Costia? I’m 'noping out' of this one,” She explained tersely in Costia's terminology._

_“Well you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”_

_Pursing her lips, Lexa simply turned up the music, mumbling along under her breath._

"So whatcha want nigga, nigga, I got a six-shooter and a horse named Trigger..."

_Costia punched at the dash, shutting the song off. “Don’t shut me out, Lexa, you know you have to deal with this.”_

_"I'm trying to drive," Lexa warned._

_"Deal. With. Your. Shit," Costia pressed._

_“I am. I’m going to do it,” Lexa growled, rooting anxiously through the console for her headphones. “With my Biggie.”_

_“You can’t just shut me out like that Lexa.”_

_“I’m going to go ahead and do it right now.” She had found her headphones, and plugged them into the jack of her phone._

_“You need to address your trauma,” Costia pressed, yanking an earbud out. "Don't be such a pussy about it."_

_“I’m trying to do it in chronological order!” Lexa argued back, changing lanes._

_"How much are you paying for these sessions just to run away from your shit for an hour?"_

_“If you want to talk money, can we address why you stick your fingers down your throat after I spend a quarter of my paycheck on a nice restaurant?!”_

_“You spent that on whiskey doubles, not our fucking meal.”_

_"I'm working on it," Lexa snapped, stepping on the accelerator and hurtling left through the intersection._

"LEXA!" _Costia shrieked the split second before it happened._

BAM. 

_They were sent spinning._

CRUNCH.

_They collided with the stoplight across the intersection._

_"_ COSTIA! _" It was the first thought on Lexa's mind, before she could even get her bearings, pawing at her airbag, unclipping her seatbelt and leaning over the console to swat at Costia's airbag. A trickle of blood trailed down her temple. She was conscious, hands flung up, pressed into her seat, horrified._

_"_ I AM DONE WITH THIS, I AM SO FUCKING DONE WITH THIS _," she shrieked, shoving at Lexa and trying to push her door open. It gave way with a kick as she unclipped her seatbelt, stumbling out of the car. "_ DONE WITH THIS AND DONE WITH YOUR SHIT, I AM SO FUCKING DONE, LEXA WOODS! _"_

* * *

"Lexa...? Lexa. Lex?"

Lexa snapped from her reverie as they coasted eastward down the highway. "What, Clarke?"

"Where are you taking us, anyways?"

The brunette glanced to Clarke, a smile once again gracing her long face. 

"We're going to Anya's. To see Titus."


	17. The Farm

They had been about two hours on the highway when at last the roads grew narrower and more winding, the turns clocking in the GPS. 

"Your sponsor has a farm?" Clarke was burning with curiosity as they turned into the driveway of a large fenced and gated property. The lawn alone looked to be about an acre. 

"Somewhat," Lexa explained, putting the car into park and opening up the door. "Just a minute, I need to enter the code," she explained, going over to a panel beside the gate and punching four digits in. The gate began to slide open. Returning to the driver's seat, Lexa shut the door and began to pull down the drive. From the garage of the house, a grey and white juggernaut began to hurtle down the front lawn.

" _TITUS, HOD OP_." Came a loud voice, floating in through the open driver's side window. The dog skidded to an immediate halt, several clods of grass flying from his front paws where they dug divots into the grass. 

" _SUT_."

The dog fell upon its haunches, still trained on the vehicle. 

" _LEIDOWN_." His belly hit the grass. Clarke could see now that the loud, clear voice was coming from a blonde woman standing at the front of the garage, coffee mug in hand. She looked to be about in her thirties, and had astonishing features framed by a mane of dark blonde hair. They continued to pull up to the garage, as Titus remained where he had stopped. When the car was safely parked and Lexa and Clarke began to climb from the Jeep, the woman uttered a final command. 

" _AIGHT!_ "

Upon release, Titus was up and running, barking aggressively at the strange vehicle and its passengers. Something changed as he drew nearer, and his pace was impeded by full-body wiggles as he headed for Lexa. The brunette dropped to her knees, enveloping her old friend in a hug, but not without knocking her head several times with the dog's skull. When he had nearly pushed her onto her back, Titus noticed Clarke, his tail wagging as he made his way over to her, licking the hand she held outstretched, a little nervously. Anya folder her arms, watching with quiet satisfaction. Lexa stood, and Clarke caught her wiping her eye furtively as the dog returned to her, trotting circles around her. 

"Wow... Just... How'd you get him to stop like that," Clarke exclaimed to the woman in wonderment, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Clarke, Lexa's girlfriend," she remembered, holding her hand out to the woman. 

"Anya," Lexa's sponsor returned, with a curt nod. "Good to see you again, Lexa," she turned to address the brunette. "And a nice reunion's always good to watch...," she added, nodding to Titus, who was working his way between Lexa's legs, still quivering with delight. 

"He looks great, Anya," Lexa observed, "Behaviorally and otherwise..."

"Oh believe me, he's been put through his paces here, same as all the other dogs," Anya told them. "Would you like to see where it all happened? Follow me out back of the house and I'll give you the grand tour..."

“The reason I had to be so secretive, Clarke,” Lexa explained as they walked. “Is it okay if I tell her, Anya, since you’ve let us into your inner sanctum and all...?”

“Go ahead.”

“Anya has a dog breeding and training business, Clarke. That’s why I strove to keep her anonymity...”

“And this is all yours,” Clarke asked Anya, awed. Behind the house extended many more acres of field and pens. They were walking a gravel road toward a barn up behind the house, on the part of the property that bordered on the forest. 

Anya snorted derisively. She found this funny. 

“I couldn’t be assed to upkeep a farm, no. I rent the basement. Do chores on my days off, look after the animals... breed dogs... train them... Lexa, you take the Beast down. See you there," the woman instructed, producing a small key from her pocket and striding over to the quad. With a nod, Lexa led Clarke to a two-seater, a bucket filled with a stack of bowls, each containing several cups of dog food, on the floor between the seats. Titus hopped up into the rear bed of the cart, as though he had known this routine for months. Climbing in beside Lexa, Clarke held on as Lexa turned the key in the ignition, causing the vehicle to growl to life. 

"Hold on," Lexa advised as she pressed the gas, beginning to speed up the bumpy gravel path behind Anya. Chickens scurried out of their way, and then began to pursue the cart in hopes of some scattered feed. Wide pastures bordered by thicket and forest passed them by on either side.

"You know how to drive this thing," Clarke observed over the rattle of the engine. Lexa nodded. 

"Anya put me to work here," she replied. "When I was getting sober..."

  
“Oh my god, Lexa, look! Lambs!” Clarke cried as they flew past the sheep pen, where several lambs were frolicking upon a small mountain of rocks, tree stumps and weeds. Their mothers rushed into the barn, no doubt expecting their troughs soon to be filled with feed. Lexa glanced to Clarke, appreciating the blonde’s enamorment with the baby animals. 

* * *

_"You've got your lamb, now we're going to take these pliers and load the tag in..." Anya explained as Lexa held the lamb, watching carefully. "Line it up with the center of the ear, punch, and you're done."_

_"Right through the ear?"_

_"Yup."_

_“I don’t want to hurt it,” Lexa confessed, otherwise intractable as the lamb struggled under her arm._

_“Did your tattoos hurt when you got them?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Do they hurt now?”_

_“No.”_

_Anya loaded passed her the ear punch “We do this now, when it will hurt the least. We wait until the lamb’s a sheep, the cartilage will be harder and it will hurt like hell. Same goes for the tail.”_

_Trying to disguise her trepidation, Lexa took the punch, sliding the lamb’s ear into it and aligning the tag._

_“Like this?”_

_“Up toward the center a little more.”_

_“Here?”_

_“Squeeze hard now.”_

_Quickly, Lexa squeezed down. The lamb jerked and let out a squeal, and then was quiet._

_“Alright, now the tail,” Anya instructed, taking the bag of rubber bands and the castration pliers from the ledge._

_“Why?”_

_“Sanitary reasons, mostly.”_

_“I see.”_

_“We roll the rubber band onto these four posts,” Anya showed her. “Then squeeze.” As she squeezed the pliers, the tight rubber band stretched open. “Now the tail will fit inside the band... she passed the pliers to Lexa, trading her for the ear punch. “Slide it onto the tail... about two thirds up.”_

_Lexa turned the struggling creature around under her arm, stretching the rubber band up over the tail of the lamb.”_

_“Here?”_

_“Yep. Let the pliers go...” Lexa let the band snap tight over the tail. “Now pull the pliers out... good. You can let her down now.”_

_When Lexa released the lamb, it hurried away from them._

_“The tail will just fall off?”_

_“In time, yes.”_

_“And it won’t hurt anymore?”_

_“You’ve got it. Think you can handle the other five?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I’ll leave you to it, then.”_

* * *

  
Anya pulled the quad out front of the barn, braking and turning back to Lexa, who was pulling in behind her and putting the cart into park. Titus hopped out, trotting off sniffing an invisible trail that went this way and that on the ground. 

“You want to feed the sheep? For old-times sake?”

“My jeans are clean. I’d rather not get ‘ _sheeped_ ’,” Lexa shouted back. 

“Why not?” Clarke begged her. 

“They will swarm me and rub up against me. I will come out smelling just like them...”

“Okay,” Clarke sighed, sounding marginally disappointed as Anya strode into a shed, emerging with a bucket full of feed and heading into the barn, wading into the crowd of hungry sheep. When she emerged several moments later, she had to shove a ram's head back in through the door, shutting and barring the sheep in again. 

“You haven’t slaughtered him,” Lexa observed to Anya. Clarke could detect the resent in her girlfriends voice. 

Anya snorted. 

“He’s a keeper.”

“I punched him in the head,” Lexa admitted quietly. 

"You what?" Clarke turned to Lexa, brows shooting up. 

"He would stalk me. And charge me. So I punched him in the head..."

" _Why_ , though?"

"I didn't say I was proud of the idea. He only took it as a challenge... And that's how I injured my wrist. Like punching concrete."

" _Oh, Lexa.._."

"Anya usually sends them for slaughter them when they get aggressive like that. Stew and bones for the dogs." Lexa frowned. "Anyways..." Leaving Clarke to walk toward the shed, she slipped inside. Several chickens hopped in behind her. Emerging again with a small pail, she cast the feed about on the ground, watching the chickens clamor for it. 

* * *

  
_It was 98 degrees, the shade provided by the small barn doing little to mitigate the heat. The back of Lexa’s cutoff clung to her back as she slid the shovel under a thick layer of shit, prying it upwards and to the back of the tool before lifting it up and dumping it into the wheelbarrow._

_Anya appeared in the doorway, swigging a ginger beer._

_“How’s it going?”_

_“Good,” Lexa grunted stoically._

_“I would have thought you’d have more done by now. You’ll get faster at it, I’m sure...”_

_Lexa leaned against the shovel, staring down at her rubber boots as she caught her breath for a moment._

_“Do you feel like a cold one? Be honest.” Anya questioned her._

_“Yes,” Lexa confessed._

_“Remember how full of shit you were, back when you drank?" Anya inquired, not pausing for a response, but instead gesturing to the much on the ground. "Here you are, clearing it away. That's sort of poetic..." Lexa threw her an exasperated look. "Keep shoveling. Shovel until all you want is water. Do that half, too,” Anya added, gesturing to another section of the barn._

_Shoulders sagging with exhaustion, Lexa went to take a long drink from her water bottle. Anya stood and watched until Lexa took up the shovel once more, pushing it into the muck._

_“Fill it with fresh shavings after. About three inches high. Call me on my cell when you’re done.”_

_Without looking up, Lexa hefted the shovel full of damp shavings and shit into the wheelbarrow._

* * *

  
"We feed the dogs next," Lexa announced to Clarke, retrieving the bucket of dog bowls from the small tractor. "They live in this stable she added, gesturing to a stable a little further up the path. A raucous chorus of barking and yelping emanated from within. 

"You want to clean their pens out while you're at it?" Anya shouted after them as they headed over. 

"Not really," Lexa shouted back over her shoulder. 

"That was a joke," Anya shouted back. 

Lexa pushed up the bar locking the barn, swinging a door open so that Clarke could enter and take a look around. The top rafters of the barn were ornamented with swallows' nests. The smell of cedar was strong. A pile of shavings dominated one corner of the barn, and the rest of the layout consisted of eight stalls, each containing a German Shepherd leaping and clawing at the door. Lexa set the pail in the center of the barn, removing the first bowl to inspect the name scrawled on it in dry-erase marker. Looking over the nameplates on each stall, she found the corresponding dog and walked over. The animal scratched at the door as Lexa opened it a bit. 

" _Sut,_ " she instructed the leaping dog, and Clarke watched as it dropped back onto its haunches. 

" _Leidown_." The dog hit the floor, salivating. 

"Goodboy." Kibble flew about as the dog pushed his snout into the bowl Lexa had lowered to the floor. Lexa walked to and from the bucket, feeding all the dogs in the same manner. The last bowl she offered to Clarke. 

"Would you like to feed Heidi," she proposed. "She's very polite..."

Pursing her lips to disguise a smile, Clarke took the bowl, walking over to Heidi's stall. Within it, a sable German Shepherd was spinning in circles of delight. A straw bed made up the corner of the stall, and a water pail was clipped to a ring on the other side. The dog leapt for Clarke as she slid the door open. 

"Sit... _sut_ ," Clarke corrected herself, speaking in the language Anya and Lexa had commanded the dogs in. Eagerly, the dog sat. "There you go, Heidi," Clarke sang praisingly as she put the bowl before the hungry dog. 

"You forgot to tell her to _leidown_ ," Lexa reminded her. "Oh well..." She slid the door shut for Clarke.

"Why the fancy language?"

"Tradition, mostly, and also so that strangers can't command them," Lexa explained.

"They just live in these stalls all their lives?" Clarke asked with a frown as Lexa went back to each stall, beginning to collect the empty bowls from each stall. 

"They're working animals, Clarke, not pets," she explained as she replaced the stack of bowls in the bucket. "Anya lets them out for a long run in the fields once a day, and then she trains them."

"For what?"

"Security... drug detection... service work... whatever they are suited to," Lexa explained. "Some aren't really cut out for work, and those ones are trained in basic obedience and sold as fully trained pets."

"Wow... Cool," Clarke replied. 

Lexa cast a look over through the open door of the barn. 

"Looks like Anya's already gone back up to the house," she observed. "We should meet her up there. Come..." They made their way out of the barn, shutting the door fast behind them. 

"Titus," Lexa yelled, and from the corner of the large field, Titus came barreling over to them. As they climbed back into the tractor, Titus hopped into the back. Starting the thing up, Lexa drove them back up the path towards the house. Parking the Beast out back, they circled around to the front of the house and entered a door by the side of the garage. Titus rushed in, beating the both of them to it. Clarke found herself in a mudroom of sorts, with stacked bags of kibble over in one corner and the walls liked with hooks, shelves and bins all full of boots, rain gear, dog leashes, collars and toy. Anya sat in a small office to the left, typing something on the computer before rolling the chair back and stepping out of it into the mudroom. 

"Kennel business," she explained, "Got a buyer for Sabre down south... So. Titus. Let's discuss."

Lexa nodded, looking down to her dog and stroking him fondly. "Do you think he's ready?" She asked seriously of Anya. 

The dark blonde woman sniffed. 

"He's as ready as he can be. But there will be... Limitations. For when he comes home with you. Let's see your scar..."

Lexa outstretched her arm, displaying her marred tattoo. The red had just begun to fade to pink. 

"Yeah, limitations."

Clarke listened carefully to the discussion, gazing down to the dog who, for all appearances, was the same old Titus again. 

"Do you think he'll be able to go out in public again?" Lexa asked slowly of Anya. 

"Not without..." Anya was reaching for a bin on a high shelf, pulling from it a leather and wire muzzle. "This..." Titus jumped and danced about her, standing on his hind legs. Anya snorted. "He thinks he's going into town," she explained. "I've taken him there for training. This stays with him," she added, handing the muzzle over to Lexa. "Undo the strap and hold it in front of his face." 

Complying, Lexa held the muzzle before Titus, who was quick to shove his snout inside the trappings. "He likes it," she observed with curiosity as she did the strap up at the base of the dog's skull. 

"He's been fed all his meals in it," Anya explained. "He also knows it's his ticket into town..."

"I'm glad... Grateful you took the time with him," Lexa thanked her sponsor. Anya shrugged. 

"He keeps you out of trouble, and so I keep him out of trouble," she spoke. Clarke smiled. She was alone in this, for Lexa and Anya seemed very similar in their demeanor. 

"Words can't express," Lexa said again, seriously, though both Clarke and Anya her vocabulary was more than large enough.

"Think nothing of it. Well. Think something of it. I'm just happy I could help you two stay together," Anya responded, producing Titus' leash. "You gonna say goodbye to me, you old beast?" She asked Titus as she held the leash out. Peeling from Lexa, Titus came over to the dog trainer, tail wagging. Anya clipped on the leash, ruffling his ears. 

"Be _good_ ," she instructed the dog seriously. "Don't forget what we talked about."

"Knowing your skill, I'm sure he won't," Lexa observed. 

"Of course he won't. I know what I'm doing here," Anya responded casually, passing the leash to Lexa. "Nice jeep, by the way. Lots of space for a dog."

Lexa nodded, quietly pleased. "Bought with Titus in mind, of course."

"Of course. Well, the three of you have a safe trip home. I've got work with the dogs to do. It was good meeting you, Clarke."

"And likewise," Clarke agreed, yet a little intimidated by the woman she had only met over the phone. 

"I'll see you out," Anya decided, going to the front door and opening it for the three of them. Titus approached the jeep unsurely, but as soon as Lexa opened the back hatch, he seemed to know exactly what to do. When he was safely inside, Lexa shut the trunk and Clarke went over to the passenger side. 

"Talk to you tomorrow?" Anya reminded Lexa. 

"As always," Lexa responded over her shoulder as she climbed into the driver's seat, shutting the door and flipping the ignition. Anya stood to watch as the jeep rolled down the driveway, only disappearing behind the house when the gate shut behind them. 

"Let's get this guy home," Clarke declared as Lexa mounted her phone, punching the directions into the GPS. 

"Agreed."


End file.
